


A Ripper Mini-Series

by ecastle_vania



Series: 2020 Castlevania Promptober [9]
Category: Castlevania Lords of Shadow と 宿命の魔鏡 | Castlevania: Lords of Shadow & Mirror of Fate, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Adult Laura, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Arson, Blood and Gore, Brief homophobic reference (no slur), Burns, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Child Murder, Child Murder Details, Crime Scenes, Dark, Did I mention blood? Cuz its everywhere, Explicit Language, Gang Violence, Historically accurate death details, I have a crush on Forrester, Implied Child Abuse (No descriptions), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Smut, Mind control (Glamor), Mutilation, Not Beta read and I am sooooo sorry, Organized Crime, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Prostitution, References to Depression, Sassy, Secrets, Serial Killers, Sexual Fantasy, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Supernatural violence, THIS IS VAMPIRES AND JACK THE RIPPER ITS DARK, Telepathy, Torture, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, WTF is that?!, Wound Descriptions, Wrongful Imprisonment, blood link, morgue, not HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecastle_vania/pseuds/ecastle_vania
Summary: It is 1888 and the evenings in Whitechapel have become terrifying for the women of the night. One by one, the murders have spread. They are so vicious, so swift, and so bloody that Forrester, a gang leader with ties to Alucard, comes to the White Wolf for help. Prowling the rooftops of London, Alucard will hunt the predator and come face to face with a nightmare.
Relationships: Forrester (OC), Laura (AU), Trevor Belmont | Alucard/Original Female Character(s)
Series: 2020 Castlevania Promptober [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953289
Comments: 15
Kudos: 3





	1. 'prasarved it for you'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Whitechapel murders take a very personal turn for the White Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Mind the tags please

Alucard eased himself down the side of the roof, moving quietly, eyes intent on the caped figure below him. _You had to be careful on these slate roofs,_ he reflected. _They were far more brittle than the wood or gable roofing of the past century._ At least it wasn’t tin. That was a nightmare to stay quiet on and usually he would just mist over them. But he wanted to be sure before he revealed himself, so he crept forward.

The figure jerked and shifted under the cloak; Alucard tensed. There was a low moan and then a feminine sigh. The white wolf froze and then sagged in defeat. They were fucking. _That is the third time tonight,_ he thought in frustration. He misted to the far street and re-materialized in the shadows by the doorway. “Damn it to hell,” he said quietly, and with great feeling.

It was Saturday September 29, 1888, close to midnight and Alucard was hunting. Somewhere a few miles west, so was Laura, his best friend and fellow vampire. The two vampires lived together in platonic, companionable bliss. They were relatively new to London, having only been here for the last century and a half, but they cared about it and the people in it. The city struggled greatly with exponential growth and severe class divides. The suffering of humanity was at its height here and they had found a great deal of ready work trying to make the lives of the citizens better.

It only made sense that it would breed a murderer the likes of which the world had never seen.

Alucard had first heard about the murders through his contacts with the werewolf gang, Forrester’s Lads. Forrester had branched out from the Elephant and Castle Gang into Whitechapel and had brushed up against Laura first, when one of his boys was hassling a pretty volunteer that worked in the soup line. Laura paid the man a visit in the middle of the night, and they were both startled to discover they were facing an immortal. Alucard was dragged in when it became apparent that he employed some of Forrester’s men in his factories.

The association had proved fruitful all around. The volunteers with Laura’s groups were protected in the Whitechapel district after Forrester spread the word that no one was to mess with them. For his part, Alucard found steady employment for the friends and family of the Lads, and a loyal workforce. When Forrester came to Laura with the idea of a travelling school for the pickpockets, she was enthusiastic. When Laura approached Forrester with the idea of providing the prostitutes with basic sexual education, explaining the benefits of avoiding pregnancy, illness and bodily trauma, Forrester agreed.

It had been a road to understanding. A decade ago, Forrester had been furious when Laura discovered a child brothel run by his second in command. She removed the children and burned down the building. Alucard had discovered this only upon returning to a house full of wide-eyed and terrified children. It had been the middle of the night when she’d stumbled upon it, having followed a man dragging a child into a building. He’d spent the better part of the night warming milk, fetching blankets, drying tears and humming songs he had not sung in 800 years.

Laura refused to speak to Forrester at all when he’d come knocking. Pride had kept the werewolf leader from explaining to Laura that he hadn’t known about it. His ignorance and blind trust in his lieutenant was a huge blow to his leadership. Her taking matters into her own hands undermined his leadership further, and Forrester been challenged. It’d been bloody, but he’d come out on top. The White Wolf had discovered the facts of the matter when dealing with unrest in one of his factories. 

When Alucard had learned this, he told Laura. Together, the trio hatched a plan for Forrester to save face with his gang, and cement his leadership. It involved a bloody fight with Laura. Forrester had argued against it for days before relenting. For her part, Laura ‘took the dive,’ endured hideous wounds before begging for mercy, and promised to never to interfere again. She publicly committed to assisting Forrester with any turf wars or funds to finance new operations. Privately, they agreed that it would be at her discretion. Forrester had sent her roses three days in a row after by way of apology. The association had been peaceful ever since.

Which brought them back to these murders. They were vicious, and seemed to only target the women of the night. Forrester had lost two women already, and suspected that three others might have perished by the same man. Because the wounds were so violent, the murders seemed to happen so quickly, and only at night, Forrester had come to Alucard. The Lads suspected an vampire, but had been unable to find any evidence of it.

Forrester’s concerns were two-fold. The police seemed not to care as they ought to, likely because the women being murdered were poor prostitutes. No one was especially surprised by this, as the police rarely solved any murders in Whitechapel and closed the file approximately fifteen minutes after the bodies were buried.

Far more troubling was that the last murder victim had been a werewolf. Thankfully, she had not transformed, but that was also problematic. Why wouldn’t she have protected herself with her werewolf form? Why hadn’t she smelled the danger? What would happen if the police discovered a gutted werewolf? None of them; the Lads, Alucard, or Laura, could afford the intense scrutiny such a discovery would bring to them.

Alucard stalked forward into the night and heard the chimes for midnight. It was officially Sunday September 30, 1888 and this was now the tenth night in a row where he had failed to locate any evidence of this murderer or the killer himself. He could only hope that Laura had been more successful.

He kept close to the shadows, maintaining his human glamor. Pale blonde hair waved over his collar, which he had turned up in defense against the chill in the air. The tresses spilled out, a curled beacon of light against the shabby elegance of his coat. The White Wolf had deliberately dressed down for Whitechapel. As it was, the old, worn, stained outfit was still enough to make him look respectable in this part of town. Reading the street sign, he realized where he was and looked across the road.

A flash of red to his right drew his eye, and he smiled, crossing the street to the doorway. “Lizzie?” he called softly, and she peered out before grinning. “Allie!” she squealed and hopped down the stairs to give him a hug. _She didn’t smell healthy_ , he thought with distress. He could still faintly smell the sweetness of her natural scent, but it was buried under alcohol, sweat, and other scents that made his heart ache with grief.

She kept her red shawl tight around her shoulders to cover her bare breasts. Elizabeth Stride was a prostitute and would bare her breasts to passers in an attempt to coax them up to her room. She was also exceptionally good at lifting their valuables as they exited. Alucard cared for her a great deal.

Alucard did not allow anyone else to shorten his name, but with Lizzie he made an exception. He had known her since she was a small girl. She had tried to pick his pocket. She had been 4 or 5 years old at the time and already fiercely independent. She couldn’t manage his name. ‘Allie’ had been possible for her, and then it just stuck.

Both he and Laura had tried several times to convince her to leave Whitechapel and do something else, but she refused to leave, content with her life and her place in the world. It saddened him but he’d accepted it. Now in her twenties, she was hardened with experience, but still one of the sweetest people he’d ever met.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked him, cocking her head to the side. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“Hey Elizabeth, you bitch! Did ya tell ‘em ye have the clap?!” The drunken, slurred voice of an angry female rolled across the street to them from a rundown shack to their left. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“That’s Gail, the old bag,” Lizzie gave her the finger, one hand clamped tight on her red shawl. “She’s mad me tits are nicer than hers. Some of her regulars have come to me. Ignore her.”

The White Wolf already was, looking at Lizzie with fondness. “I’m looking for the murderer who has been targeting the working women, Forrester asked Laura and I to look into it,” Alucard said, brushing his hair back from his collar, “I thought it would be best to dress down a bit.”

She snorted, “You still look like a prince. A shabby one, but a prince of a man. No one is going to think you live ‘round here.”

Alucard shrugged, “It was worth a shot. Besides, I am hoping people might be more cautious with a stranger wandering around.”

“Bad business that mess, but I haven’t seen anything odd,” she gave him a grin and Alucard tried to smile back. Truth be told, he was afraid for her and despite himself he opened an old argument.

“Lizzie, I was wondering if you might come back with me. Laura would love to see you, and we could…” the thunderous brow of his friend warned him to stop.

“Allie, can it,” her lip curled. “I ain’t doing this with you again. This be my home, and this is where I stay. Murderer or not. I am perfectly fine and I don’t want your charity. I’ve told you before! I don’t aim to be rescued, and you’re starting to piss me off.”

 _Damnit Lizzie, you’re so stubborn!_ he thought, but just nodded, “I am sorry, you have been clear, and I should have respected that. I’m just scared for you Lizzie. You are my friend. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

The brow cleared, and the lips smiled. Lizzie tossed her curls and gave him a coy look. “You should be more afraid for the man I’d hurt who’d try to start anything.” She inched her skirt up and Alucard’s brow rose with the hemline. _She was good,_ he thought, but he was a vampire. He saw the slight of hand as she palmed the small blade from the pocket in the shawl.

“Not bad Lizzie, although you need to work on the ripple of your hand under the shawl,” he said, hiding his smile as she scowled.

“It’s better when I ain’t holding me clothes together.” She sniffed with annoyance, and replaced the blade. “If we both didn’t feel weird about having you see me tits, you wouldn’t have seen where I got the sticker from. Most gents are too busy trying to see if I am wearing knickers to notice.”

Alucard grinned, and she blinked. “Careful throwing that around love, it’s lethal. I always forget. Gail’ll offer you a freebie and then you _would_ get the clap.”

He had to laugh and was pleased when she joined him. She’d always told him his smile was killer. It’d become a joke between them. It was rare that his smile was wide enough to show teeth, and he’d always thought she was being sarcastic about how unattractive he was when he smiled.

It would have shocked him to know that she was a little bit in love with him. The times that she coaxed a true smile out of him was a personal victory for her and made her heart flutter. She thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

"Gail can keep her freebie." He gave a shudder that was only slightly exaggerated. _I'd rather lick a festering sore,_ he thought, and coughed. “Could you do me a favor at least?” he asked Lizzie and offered a silent plea for her consent to the gods.

She looked at him suspiciously, and he continued. “Be extra cautious Lizzie. If you don’t know them, don’t take them upstairs, just for now. Please.”

Lizzie scowled, “That’s bad for business Allie. I can’t be known for turning people aways.”

“You tell me how many you’ve had to—” he started to say, reaching for his purse, and Lizzie snarled at him.

“It ain’t about the bloody money! I don’t want yours; how many ways can a girl say it?!” Lizzie turned from him and shook her head. He watched the line of her back and thought that she was too skinny and too stubborn. Unless he perched on her roof all night, there was no way he could protect her. With a sigh he rubbed his eyes, and didn’t see Lizzie watch him with her heart in her eyes. “Alright Allie,” she said quietly. “I won’t take anyone new up. For now. Just the next couple o’ days. You’ll catch the bastard by then, right?”

Alucard could feel his heart lighten and gave her a grateful smile. “Yes, Lizzie, I aim to.”

\---

Lizzie watched Alucard disappear into the fog at the end of Berner Street and shook her head. _You’re a fool Elizabeth_ , she told herself. _That man is not for you. He’s too fine, too good and you’re a whore. He wants to rescue you, but once you are rescued, he doesn’t have any other use for you._

Lizzie was content with her lot in life. Granted, sometimes her gents were rough and she had to slice ‘em. Sometimes her feet ached, her bones were cold and she got tired of scrubbing out her works. Sometimes she wished for a neighborhood that wasn’t punctuated by yelling, or grunting at all hours, but for the most part, life was good. She had a reasonable amount of everything she needed here, and she didn’t need a husband or a child to complete her.

 _But that man,_ she thought, _that was one that made her think twice. Every time._ But he didn’t see her that way. Perhaps that is why she’d never offered to tumble him. She’d never taken his money, and she’d never flashed her wares to him. He didn’t look at her like a man looked at a woman. _It is for the best,_ she told herself for the thousandth time. Allie was with Laura and a classier, kinder lady there couldn’t be.

She knew that they called each other brother and sister but she was sure that was a cover for the fact they weren’t married. Granted, they had similar coloring, corn silk hair, pale skin and bright eyes, but their physical builds couldn’t be more different. Laura was tall and curvy, all softness and warmth. Alucard was tall too, but leanly muscular with a cool reserve, and almost pretty features. His formality was as much a part of him as his nose.

Simply put, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine anyone living that close to Alucard and not falling into his bed eventually. The man was stunning, kind, humble, respectful and built like you could climb his dick for days. _Drawers on the floor and thrown across the room,_ she thought and felt a warm flush at the idea of him throwing her knickers across the room. She scoffed, _Keep dreaming Lizzie, because that’ll never happen._ It hurt and left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

 _I need a drink,_ she thought and then cursed. She’d used the last with Charlie only an hour ago. She turned and left her doorway. In the daytime it opened to a butcher’s shop and she had to stay in the park around the corner. But when the sun went down the doorway became her haunt, and the side stairs led to her home above the shop. Crossing through the back alley, she approached Dutfield's Yard. She would cut through it to get to O’Shea’s, where she could buy some ale before closing at 1 am.

There was a soft scrape behind her and Lizzie’s hand went to her shawl. _Fucking Gail_ , she thought. She whirled, warning, “Gail ya old cooch, if you try anything, I’ll gut ya.” Fog danced lazily behind her and the night was quiet. Elizabeth hesitated; a light, cold finger ghosting down her spine. She shook the chill off. _I’ve been taking care of meself since I was a tot,_ she thought and straightened. Turning back towards Dutfield’s, she moved the boards aside and let them fall with a clatter.

Her step was confident as she made her way into the fog; the lights of O’Shea’s a welcome glow cutting through the wet haze. “Hello there,” came the whispered greeting behind her. The voice was low and pleasant. While the voice startled Lizzie, it didn’t alarm her. She assumed it was a drunk cutting through from O’Shea’s.

“Hiya,” she answered, not bothering to turn around. _She could hear the voices in O’Shea’s now and practically taste—the voice was behind her. Not coming from O’Shea’s. Behind her!_ Lizzie whirled, blade at the ready but it was too late. The tentacle whipped out from the darkness and sliced her throat. As her blood pattered softly into the ground, she heard Allie’s warning thunder through her mind, ‘ _Be extra cautious Lizzie.’_ She groaned and blood bubbled up onto her tongue and past her lips.

Like a body emerging from the water, her murderer appeared through the shifting fog. The white tendrils of mist clinging to her killer were like pleading hands. The face was almost serene and surprisingly pleasing. She tried to speak but her vision was shrinking. She fell to her knees. “Goodnight Elizabeth. Tell your sisters hello from me.”

\---

There was a pounding on his door and Alucard groaned. He didn’t know what time it was but he knew it was early. The sun was likely still up. _What in the holy hell?_ he wondered and rose from his bed. Yanking on his kimono, he tied the sash and went to the door. Laura was there, with Forrester. Her hair was still braided and she too wore a kimono. _She’d been woken too,_ he thought, still trying to come fully awake.

He watched Forrester look down at her and if he’d been more awake he would have caught the longing. But he didn’t. “What the hell—” he started to ask, irritated, and Laura thrust the paper into his hands. Looking down Alucard snapped awake.

**_Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes were both killed in the early morning hours of Sunday 30 September 1888. Stride's body was discovered at approximately 1 a.m. in Dutfield's Yard, off Berner Street in Whitechapel. The cause of death was a single clear-cut incision, measuring six inches across her neck. It appears that the killer was interrupted in his dastardly work. Witnesses have come forward stating that they had seen Stride in the company of a man in or close to Berner Street on the evening of 29 September and in the early hours of 30 September. He is said to be fair, pale of hair and face with fine clothes in poor repair. Witnesses state that they appeared to know each other but…_ **

“ _No_.” Alucard whispered, unbelieving. _Not Lizzie,_ he thought _, not her. He told her, he warned her, she knew_ … “ ** _NO!_** ” he snarled, ripping the paper in half. His eyes jerked up to Laura and she was holding herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks, the blood plopping onto her pale purple kimono. Forrester had his hands on her shoulders, and was murmuring something soothing.

“I did this,” he said, shaking, and Forrester’s head snapped up. Laura shook her head, eyes pleading. “I should have made her come here, I should have hauled her over my fucking shoulder and I, I, oh my God Laura, _oh my God_ …” Alucard sunk to his knees, not even feeling the slashes that he received for using God's name. Laura fell with him, arms wrapped around him tight.

\----

I, I will be king  
And you, you will be queen  
Though nothing will drive us away  
Oh, we can be heroes, just for one day  
Oh, we can be us, just for one day  
_\- “Heroes,”_ Peter Gabriel (cover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two will be published later today. Stay tuned! 
> 
> *Special thanks to Wikipedia for the news article and for providing much of the text for the 'article' that Alucard reads*


	2. 'if you only wate a while longer'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forrester and Alucard make macabre discoveries in the dead of night that suggest this killer is no mortal being, and a letter gives new insight into the motivations of this murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want Laura to know about this,” Alucard said to Forrester as they knocked on the cellar door. “She is extraordinarily upset about Lizzie and Catherine.”

“Don’t you think it is a little bizarre that you have connections to both of them?” Forrester asked him, his low, gruff voice a shadowy whisper in the night.

“I don’t have connections to both of them.” Alucard answered as they heard the footsteps approach. “But I agree, it seems like a hell of a coincidence that Laura does.” Forrester’s grunt was an affirmative sound. Neither man believed in coincidence. After the shock over Lizzie had worn off a bit, Laura had mentioned that Catherine was a regular at the soup line and had seemed like a nice person. Both men had caught each other's eye and this evenings activity was the result.

It was October 3, 1888, a quarter past ten and the two men were huddled in the sputtering circle of light from the lantern hanging beside the door. The smell here was grim and overpowering, putrid flesh, bodily fluids, and endings filled with despair and violence. This was the storage facility for the morgue for burial or delayed examination. Lizzie’s body was to be released to him for burial tomorrow, but Catherine’s body was being held for an expert who was on his way into London from the country.

Before the expert got to the corpse, Alucard wanted an opportunity to examine Catherine and see if there was any evidence of a vampiric bite. Forrester’s contacts had arranged the scheduling to allow one of the Lads on guard duty this evening. When the door opened, Alucard recognized Neil and nodded. All the men were silent as they strode forward. The White Wolf offered a silent thank you to Laura for the scented oils she kept in their house. He’d swiped one, and dabbed under his nose as they’d approached the alley. His sense of smell was keen, and the stench in here was heinous. The oil didn’t kill the horrid smells, but it cut them.

“They ‘ave ‘er ‘o’r 'ere,” Neil said suddenly, breaking the morbid silence. With his torch, he indicated a damp stone alcove with pine boxes so green they wept sap. The long boxes were stacked on each other and painted with a series of numbers and letters.

“Fuck, there’s eight in there, which one is it lad?” Forrester peered into the alcove, and Alucard found he could be amused despite the circumstances. The werewolf was an imposing man, and had to hunch to even look into the small room. Forrester was striking; flame red hair that always fell in his eyes, beard that he was constantly trying to tame, and piercing blue eyes that drew your gaze and held it, fiercely proud. Alucard was not a small man, but he felt dwarfed by the werewolf. Watching Forrester trying to wedge himself in, was like watching a cat try to bat a mouse out of a wine bottle.

“64-E-3,” came the response and Forrester grunted.

“There she be,” he said with a growl of satisfaction. Of course, the vampire couldn’t see, at all, what he was referring to, but Forrester started to back out. There was an accompanying squeal of wood on wood. “Alucard, get the end there, boy-o,” the werewolf said.

The White Wolf stepped forward and grasped the rope handle at the end of the box. Wriggling madly, Forrester managed to work his shoulders out of the opening. With a final tug, Alucard freed the box, and then heard a tumbling crash. His head jerked up to meet Forrester’s gaze. “Okay, so we jostled ‘em some." The big redhead shrugged. "Not like they’re gonna mind!” Alucard signed heavily, and the gang leader grinned.

“Like the disapproving fishwife you are,” Forrester rumbled with a laugh.

“That sigh is better suited to ya sister, mate, wistful just like an old maid,” Neil said with a chuckle. Alucard stiffened, and thought, _what did you just say?_ When he looked up though, Forrester was already staring the man down.

“You best apologize for that, lest you find yourself under my shoe. No insults to Lady Laura will be borne in my presence,” Forrester’s barely contained malice filled the space, and Neil gulped. “She is an ally of ours, and we will treat her with respect.”

“Apologies, sincerely, no offense was intended, I swear!” the gang member blabbed, and rushed to fill the awkward space. “Bring the box over to the examining table, I’ll light the lamps.”

Alucard caught Forrester’s eye, and nodded his thanks. The man arched his brow and gave a curt nod. Together they hauled the box over to the table, already lit up by Neil’s enthusiastic administrations. Alucard hissed when the box tilted toward him, and congealed fluids oozed out the side onto his sleeve. He resisted gagging, but just barely.

Forrester looked over, and made a disgusted face. “I eat people, and that’s fucking rank,” he said, tone very matter-of-fact.

“Agreed,” Alucard responded, and released the handle. He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the stain. Thank goodness he was wearing rags for this little adventure, because that wasn’t coming out. “To hell with it,” he said and lifted the cover. Now he did gag, and dropped the lid in horror. “Suffer well, what _the fuck_ is that!” he said, revulsion thick in his voice. _No mortal could do that. That is an immortal and sick bastard at that,_ he thought.

“Well, I was gonna look, ya know, papers been screaming 'bout it an’ all, but now I’lla wait outside for ya both,” Neil turned, and left as quickly as he could. The door closed with a faintly ominous echo, and Forrester spoke.

“How bad is this, Alucard. What are we looking at here?” The werewolf’s voice was low now and subdued. Alucard found that the man lost much of his bluster when he wasn’t in front of his gang. They’d even had some excellent conversations regarding worker’s rights and unions over port and whiskey in the drawing room. With a deep breath, the vampire raised the lid again, and drew it off to the side.

“Holy Mother Mary,” Forrester said, audibly swallowing hard.

The body was barely recognizable. They clearly had dumped her in the box, and shuffled her aside. Her throat was cut deeply, ragged flesh and cartilage spattered with black, crusted blood. The abdomen was ripped open by a long, deep and jagged wound and peeled back, as though her flesh was a carved Christmas roast. Her intestines, like drying snakes shedding their skins, had been piled on her chest. There were incisions on the sides of her torso, and as Alucard carefully lifted the lamp to peer closer, he could see that it looked like organs had been removed. With a rolling nausea, he realized how far down the incision went. _The monster took her womanhood,_ he thought with rising fury.

“Alucard, what do you make of her face?” Forrester asked him, the man’s voice strained and rough.

The vampire brought the lamp up, and a low growl escaped him. Catherine’s face had been horribly disfigured. Nose removed, cheek slashed, eyelids and eyes slashed, even bits of her ears missing. “Is there cloth and water?” he asked Forrester, and the werewolf stepped away for a moment before returning. It appeared that he had wet his kerchief. He passed it silently over, and Alucard gently patted the flesh under the corpses’ eyes.

“What the…?” Forrester asked, and peered closer. There was a triangular incision on her cheekbone, the skyward tip pointing towards the mutilated eye. Alucard checked the other side and sure enough, there was another one. “What does it mean?” the werewolf asked him, looking up.

“I wish I knew, but whatever it is, it cannot be good,” Alucard said and frowned. Without the autopsy notes, it was hard to know exactly what was taken from her. “My hope of being able to see a vampire’s bite, of some indication of vampiric presence, is completely foiled by this. There is no chance in this poor wreckage of a body.”

“Think that might’ve been the point?” Forrester stepped back, and looked at the ceiling, exhaling loudly. Alucard continued his examination, carefully looking down the legs. “Didya hear they’re calling him Leather Apron now, on account of Catherine’s apron showing up with graffiti? Graffiti rumored to be anti-Semitic?”

“Yes, unfortunately I had heard that, and frankly, looking at this fucking mess, I would say he’s anti-human period.” He couldn’t look anymore, and stepped away. The ceiling held as much appeal for him as it had for Forrester and he stared at it while he took several calming breaths. “I’ve seen things, horrible things, but this…”

“Aye, I feel the same.” Forrester’s voice was a wealth of understanding. “There’s rippin’ up a body for food or battle, for one. Hell, I’ve seen madness in some of the fledgling wolves, but this? There’s glee here. Exuberance. A freedom from everything reasonable."

Startled, Alucard looked across at the man, and found blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the dim light. “That’s surprisingly insightful for you, my friend.” Forrester grimaced.

“Don’t spread it around, I got a reputation to maintain,” the gang leader smirked, and a canine peeked out.

Alucard nodded, “I’m sure it will pass quickly.”

Forrester’s smirk broke into a full-fledged grin, and he said, “Hey, fuck you, ya wannabe Byron, I know a thing or two.”

Alucard gave him a sour look. He hated Byron’s overwrought prose, and Laura loved it. More than once she’d commented on how he should start curling his hair again to pass as the poet. Alucard would rather shave his head, and that was saying something. Unfortunately, she’d commented on it once in front of Forrester and he’d never heard the end of it since.

The vampire looked back to the sad end in an unfinished pine box oozing black liquid and felt enormous pity well up. “If only we knew this.”

\---

Cormac Forrester’s steps quickened in anticipation. It was pure luck that he’d run into George Lusk that day. The man had wanted to discuss increasing the protective rounds that the Lads had taken to doing around Whitechapel in the evenings. Further inquiry into Lusk’s request had revealed the letter. Unbelievably, George had put it in the rubbish pile, and agreed to let Forrester take it to the police. _But first,_ he thought _, I will make a stop to see Laura and Alucard._

It was October 16, 1888 and there had been no further murders since Catherine and Lizzie. They had buried Elizabeth in a small, simple plot on October 6, with full Christian rites. It’d been painful to see Alucard’s grief-stricken stare at the casket, and hear Laura’s ragged breath hitch with pain. Worse had been smelling the female vampire's blood every time the priest spoke the name of God or read a text. He knew she was being punished for attending a Christian service. Alucard was spared that punishment, unique because of Dracula’s blood. Unless the Exalted Heir directly spoke God’s name or the Word, he would not suffer.

Forrester felt loathing rise up in himself, remembering how divine Laura’s blood smelled. How he’d spent the better part of the funeral willing the rising anticipation, and extremely unwelcome arousal, to go away. It’d been a blessing it was a chilly night, and his coat had protected him from giving some very awkward explanations. For the hundredth time he told himself to stop wanting her. She didn’t see him that way, she didn’t want him, and there was no possibility of this unrequited need being returned.

The werewolf had wanted her from the moment she had appeared in his life. In the dead of night, she’d appeared beside his bed, smelling like springtime and hope. A voluptuous black shadow of feminine fury who’d held a blade to his throat with a screaming Medusa at its hilt; he’d been startled and then intrigued. By the time Laura had declared she’d happy bleed him if he didn’t tell his Lads to leave the volunteer women alone; he’d been fully prepared to fuck this audacious and foolish woman who had more guts than his own men.

But when he’d lunged for her, she’d blurred, and his instincts took over. Werewolves and vampires were united under Dracula’s banner, but no one had seen the Vampire Lord since the 16th century. Both the Blue Crescent Moon Kingdom and the Blood Kingdom had reverted back to their wary and adversarial ways in their lord’s absence. Forrester attacked her, and found himself severely overpowered. He was no weakling, but he was no match for Laura’s speed and agility. Afterwards, he had discovered she was centuries older than he was.

His mouth quirked as he mounted the stairs to their front door _. I was lucky she didn’t cut my cock off_ , he thought, remembering her arched brow and gleaming eyes when she’d finally pinned him against the wall. She’d been very cool about the fact he’d been obviously aroused, but her blush had given her away. Instead of fighting him, she’d sighed and tossed him his pants, telling him to get dressed. She’d dropped her glamor and turned to him, all white hair and glowing eyes. The vampire said that they'd better talk this one out because he was an immortal in charge of Whitechapel’s gangs, and they needed to come to an arrangement. Of course, the arrangement she’d had in mind, hadn’t been the one he had. To his dismay that evening and every night after, their clothes had stayed on.

Forrester used the door knocker, and touched the letter in his breast pocket. Distracted, he brushed his hair back and thought again that he needed to cut it. _Downside of a werewolf metabolism,_ he thought absently. His hair and beard constantly grew and half the time he looked more like the warriors of his homeland than was socially acceptable. The door opened and he broke into an easy grin at Alucard’s cool nod and tiny smile. Anyone else would have thought the vampire wasn’t too pleased to see him, but Forrester knew that small curve of the lips was a grin from anyone else. Alucard was dressed simply, long limbs wrapped in black and white hair tied back. The golden orbs set in black shone with intelligence.

“Good timing Forrester. We were about to head out in thirty minutes. Care for a drink in the library? Laura’s having some wine, and I have a port. What might I get you?” Alucard ushered him in, and took his coat. The red head brushed down his vest, and debated rolling his sleeves down. _They’ll be rumpled anyway,_ he thought with a twinge of dismay _. It can’t be helped. Besides, Laura won’t notice. She doesn't care what I look like._

“Ah, might you have a splash of whiskey?” Forrester asked, hopeful. Port was alright, but a weak drink in his opinion. Wine was just disappointing.

Alucard’s smile flashed again. “Yes, we do. Laura knows you favor it, and makes a point of keeping Jameson’s on hand for your visits.”

Pleasure curled in Forrester’s gut and he thought, _she noticed what I liked._ He casually raised a brow. “Woman knows her whiskey,” he said admiringly, “its flavor is virtually unmatched.”

“Try sampling wine with her sometime,” Alucard said drily, “the flavors she can pick out of things is uncanny. Scents are one of her passions, as you know.” The vampire lead him down the hallway, and Cormac could hear the strains of classical music. They had the gramophone running again. The siblings had invested in a small company, Volta Laboratory, run by a man by the name of Bell. The company had taken the phonograph, and introduced several changes that made it more marketable. Marketed at an affordable cost only last year as the ‘gramophone,’ after Bell’s middle name, it was a marvelous sound device that created music without instruments.

The device was an incredible phenomenon to him and Forrester spent almost two hours with them one evening listening to every wax record they owned. He’d never attended the symphony or the opera but it’d been a revelation. Secretly, he wished that they would record some Irish reels and ballads, but there was plenty of live music in Whitechapel for that. Still, it would be fun to have a reason to teach Laura some moves, to hold her close, and pretend they were in their sitting room. _Stop it Cormac_ , he told himself, and followed Alucard into the library.

Still, his heart quickened when he saw Laura, eyes roaming over those insane curves clad in black breeches and a simple linen blouse unbuttoned at the collar. She was dressed for the hunt tonight. She was dressed similar to the first time he’d seen her. The customary braid was missing, hair loose, white waves tumbling over her shoulders. The scent of mint was faint, but he knew it would be stronger the closer he got.

As he approached, she looked up from the letter she was writing, and smiled. Cormac mindfully resisted the urge to gulp in response. Instead he approached her, and bowed over her hand. It was old-fashioned, but it allowed him to touch her. Once again, he cannot believe that Alucard appeared completely immune to her sensuality. They called each other sibling, but he knew that was by choice and not blood.

“Good to see you Forrester, we were just saying we needed to touch base with you. I was going to compose a letter to you after this one.” Her voice was rich and throaty, twining itself around his throat, and squeezing.

“Actually, I came about a letter. A lead, on the Whitechapel killer, if I am not mistaken,” he said, grateful for the drink Alucard pressed into his hand. The whiskey burned down his throat, and helped ease its constriction. He took a seat on the lounge, and was rewarded for selecting the less comfortable seat when Laura joined him. He withdrew the letter from his pocket, and passed it to her.

“This,” he inclined his head to indicate the paper she was unfolding, “was sent to George Lusk, the chairperson for the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, with whom, as you know, my Lads have been working with on the evening patrols.” Laura’s sharp inhalation puncuated the end of his sentence and her eyes flew to his, before snapping over to Alucard. She stood and stepped toward the Exalted Heir. The vampires read beside each other, body language comfortable and friendly.

Conveniently, this put Cormac eye-level with her amazing ass. _I am genuinely blessed this evening,_ he mused, and indulged himself with a good long inspection of curves that would welcome, and cushion a man as he pounded into her. He could practically feel the contour of her ass pressed into his lower belly, while he would watch that generous flesh move like wind through a silk curtain with every thrust. _Fuck, best to stop thinking that right quick,_ he thought, and casually leaned on his knee to give himself some cover.

Laura turned back to him and he was grateful he’d decided to lean forward, because she knelt down, right in front of him. His imagination started a happy trip down the ‘let’s try this position naked’ lane, and he yanked his attention back to the present. She turned the letter toward him, and he read it again:

**From hell**

**Mr Lusk, Sir**

**I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nice. I may send you the bloody knife that took it out if you only wate a while longer**

**signed Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk**

“Did it come with the kidney?” Laura asked him, pointing to the line, and so close he could taste her scent in the air between them.

“Aye,” Forrester said, taking a swallow of his whiskey to wash her, and his lust, out of his mouth. _Damnit man, keep it together,_ he thought sternly, and continued. “Lusk thought this a fake and had dumped it and the jarred kidney in the rubbish bin. We fished it out. He has the jar at his home.” He pointed to the letter. “George said that there were stains on it before, but unfortunately the bin had other things in it. There is no way to know what stains came from where.”

She turned back to Alucard, and her hair brushed over the werewolf’s knee and the side of his hand. Forrester bit his tongue to keep from groaning. _Like bloody silk that is,_ he thought, and wanted to bury his face in it. “What do you think, brother?” she asked.

Alucard shook his head slowly. “There is something about this one. I know we’ve seen the 'Jack the Ripper' letter before in the paper, but that one just seemed too…silly, for lack of a better word. There is something in this one. Some… how did you put it that time, Forrester? When we were out on the third and you said it was like there was a… joy?”

Forrester shuddered, remembering that destroyed body in the dark and damp. The smell of an evil so sour and virulent it seemed to seep from the wounds. “Glee,” he said, throat dry again, for an entirely different reason.

“Yes,” Alucard looked somber. “A glee, an exhilaration, in this letter. That line, ‘it was very nice.’ There’s something maliciously taunting in it, isn’t there?”

“For me, it was the ‘catch me when you can,’” Laura said, standing again, and walking over to the fireplace to stoke the flames. “There is a sense of anticipation, almost relish there. As if he wants to be caught, wants that showdown. Thinks he can win it.”

“What do you make of the misspellings and the writing?” Forrester asked Alucard, watching Laura out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think it’s a ruse. I think he’s educated, but not used to communicating this way,” Alucard said and then paused, thoughtful. “May I see it again?” Cormac passed it over and the White Wolf traced one long, pale finger over the text. He came back over to Forrester and angled the letter to him. “Laura, come here and look at this please.”

She came to the other side of Cormac and angled in, touching his shoulder and leaning close. Her hair brushed over his shoulder and cheek. It was heaven. It was hell. “Look at the writing. Specifically, look at the writing before 'I took' and then after 'from one.' It took Forrester a moment and then he saw it.

“Fuck me!” He exclaimed and then immediately felt like the poor, uneducated immigrant he was. He’d only learned to read eight years ago, and it was on the sly with the pickpocket classes Laura had organized. “I beg your pardon Laura, that was—” she interrupted him.

“It’s fine, really, it doesn’t matter, what did you two see? I don’t see it?” She turned to Cormac, and seemed to realize how close she was to him, because she blushed. “Pardon me, I think I overstepped your boundaries in my excitement there.” She backed up a step, and then sat on the lounge beside him. Forrester was relieved, and disappointed at the same time.

The werewolf forced a casual shrug, but Alucard was already speaking. “I think he switched hands, Laura, look at the writing. He was trying to disguise it and he got impatient—.”

“Respectfully, no,” Forrester interjected, “he got excited.” His revulsion rose, as he felt certainty settle. “That’s excitement. Look at the slant of the letters, how they jam up and fall toward the side. The motherfu—” he glanced at Laura, “killer; he’s _elated_.” She nodded slowly, sick dismay twisting her lovely face.

Alucard looked at him, the uncanny golden eyes observing him. “Forrester, you continue to surprise me with your insight. Let us hope that he stays in his current residence, shall we?” He folded the letter up and offered it back to Cormac. It took the werewolf a moment to realize what Alucard was saying. _‘From hell,’_ the letter had said.

 _Yes,_ Cormac thought in agreement, _that motherfucker can stay there and burn._ But as he met the Exalted Heir's gaze, he knew that neither of them thought this killer would.

\--- 

Gathering the clouds  
Dancing in the orchards  
Take this shame away  
Release me from this burden  
I’m making friends with Death  
While I can  
I’m making friends with death  
Before the end  
Before it ends

- _“Friends With Death,”_ Veltlite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to remind one more time this doesn't have a happy ending.
> 
> Special thanks to Wikipedia for the "From Hell" letter scan and text. Fun fact, this letter is the only one that hasn't been virtually debunked by experts.


	3. 'Catch me when you can'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The discovery of another body leads to confirmation of a supernatural killer unlike anything they've ever seen before. As Alucard closes in on the killer, does he understand what this confrontation might cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m hopeful of course, that something might have happened to him,” Alucard eased himself down in the chair and looked at Forrester. “It’s been three weeks now.” 

It was 5:00 am November 9, 1888; the end of the night for Alucard and the beginning of the day for Forrester. The evening patrols were wearing on him and on Laura, but if they kept Whitechapel safe, it was worth it. Forrester was stuck with the daytime work as of late. Alucard had been forced to entrust certain aspects of his business to the man as a result of the vampire’s evenings being taken with the investigation. _Thankfully, there were solicitors and my man-of-affairs for everything else_ , he thought.

He looked across Forrester’s desk at the werewolf. The man was surprisingly alert for the time of day, and had obviously bathed prior to greeting Alucard. His ginger hair was gently waving as it dried, and his rolled-up shirt sleeves showed muscles that wrapped like thick snakes around his bones. The desk chair creaked in protest as Forrester settled his muscular bulk into it. Alucard hid a grin. He’d seen stronger chairs give under Forrester’s frame. The man was a walking wall.

The Ripper had been quiet since the letter to Lusk. In the lull, Alucard had been able to obtain copies of the other two pieces of Ripper correspondence that were being considered as genuine, and confirmed the handwriting was different. The trio had agreed that there was something forced about the letter and the postcard. The aura of glee and malice was absent from those works. The letter that Forrester had located seemed to be the actual killer to them.

Alucard withdrew the thick file from his briefcase, and rose to place it on Forrester’s desk. “My contact came through. This is everything the Yard has on him, and it’s precious little. I was right about Catherine; he took her uterus, just like the other two.”

Forrester’s face was pained, “Fucking disgusting,” he said, and opened the file. “Annnd there’s pictures, because why the fuck not.” He flipped quickly and scanned the documents. “I don’t have a queasy stomach, but sweet Lucifer, this is a bit much.” He closed the file and looked at Alucard. “I’m assuming you went through this?”

The White Wolf inclined his head respectfully. “I did, and unfortunately, so did Laura.” Forrester scowled, and gave a tight shake of his head. “I agree.” Alucard said, “But she insisted. Remember our little jaunt out to the morgue, and the face carvings? Laura noticed the triangles on the cheeks of Catherine, and started researching immediately. She is sure there’s meaning in them.”

“It’s unseemly to subject her to that; she’s delicate,” Forrester said, yanking open the file again, and shuffling the photographs. 

Alucard laughed; a dry, soft thing. “Don’t ever let her hear you say that, you’ll get a lecture.” Forrester’s gaze met his, and Alucard felt a slight pang of pity. He was aware that Forrester felt something for Laura. Carefully placed questions to her confirmed what he already suspected; Laura hadn’t noticed the werewolf's interest, and thought him a nice man, nothing more. 

“We both know she is strong, and the dark knows, I don’t disagree with her that females are just as capable as a man. I don’t mean it otherwise, but her heart is tender. This would gut her. Hell, it guts me!” He stabbed a finger on the pictures, “it guts anyone with a shred of decency.”

“Rest assured, I happen to agree with you,” Alucard said, and stretched out his legs. “As to that file, there is precious little in it that we haven’t already come to the conclusion of. Thankfully, there is no mention of the supernatural, although we both know that the papers have decided otherwise.” Forrester made a face, and stopped to review the notations from the expert who had reviewed Catherine’s wounds.

“A scalpel? Really?” he looked up at the vampire. “Not exactly a common tool.”

Alucard firmed his lips. “Read the reports for Annie, Lizzie, and Mary Ann. Read between the lines. They have no fucking idea, Forrester. Some say a butcher’s knife, some say an axe,” he gestured to that report, “scalpel. There was even the suggestion of a glass blade. These are all experts and they can’t agree. It defies logic, it’s almost as if the blade is something unknown to modern science. One more thing that screams ‘immortal,’ to me.”

“But no bites, no hairs, or magical or demonic residues. I’ve checked, Alucard. The Lads have even dug up some of the early ones, and believe me I have heard the bitchin’ about that 'or days. There was nothing. It’s as if he really is a ghost.” There was a knock at the door and Forrester stood. He strode over to the door, and accepted the tea tray from the Lad.

Bringing it back to the desk, he started to remove the items, when they heard excited voices from the lower floor and then footsteps pounded up the stairs. Alucard’s eyes flew to Forrester’s and the werewolf’s brows cocked. The red head returned to the door, looping his suspenders back up and over his shoulders as he went. He opened the door and a lad of maybe twelve was in the middle of raising his arm to knock. “Forrester! Sir!,” he gasped out, “there’s been another!”

\--

“Not in Whitechapel,” Forrester said again, fist tight and pounding against his knee. “Not the Chapel!! The bastard is avoiding us. We can’t police the whole bloody city!” Alucard simply nodded and looked out the carriage window. They could have taken the underground, but the smell of the bodies and the lack of privacy, were two considerations that kept the vampire in carriages.

“Alucard,” the werewolf said, and the vampire looked back at him. Forrester looked concerned. “When is sunrise today? Are you safe coming this far out?” Alucard smiled.

“At your ease my friend, sunrise isn’t for another ninety minutes,” he indicated the sky, “I was just looking at the clouds. I believe it will be another day of full coverage. Barring complications, I can stay until this is done.” He felt dread rise up in him and took a breath. _Let this be the last,_ he thought without hope, _let us find this monster and usher him back to Hell._ The carriage stopped two blocks from Dorset Street, as instructed. Neither man wished to bring attention to themselves in Miller’s Court, knowing that there would be intense scrutiny once the body was properly discovered.

It was pure fortune that they were informed first. Elizabeth Prater, who lived above the unfortunate Mary Jane Kelly, was one of the mistresses of the Lads and knew about the investigation. The entire network was aware that Forrester would pay fifteen pounds for any solid lead on the Ripper. That was a small fortune for the residents, and people had been keeping their eyes open for him.

Elizabeth had heard something in the night and waited until her man, John, came to see her at 5 am. Together, they’d investigated and John's supernatural sense of smell had confirmed death within the room. When they pushed in the cloth being used to plug the broken windowpane, they'd seen Mary Jane. Apparently, they’d both darted down the alley to retch before Elizabeth had gone off to the bar to get good and drunk. John had located a messenger to send to Forrester. The gang member had stayed in Elizabeth’s room to listen for any further disturbances and to assist Forrester.

They dismounted and paid the driver. After consideration, Alucard tipped him to wait. It might draw further attention to have to hail another, or loiter. He instructed the man to remain in the alley, and keep the horses quiet. Forrester quietly draped his arm around the White Wolf, and murmured in his ear. “He’ll remember us, and it needs to be for another reason. Follow my lead.”

The White Wolf had already suspected his intentions, given that Forrester was never this physical with him. The vampire nodded, and Forrester nuzzled his cheek. Alucard slung his arm inappropriately low on the werewolf’s back, making an obvious drift towards grabbing his ass. Both of them heard the driver’s sharp cough of disapproval, and muttered slur as they sauntered down the alley. When they came around the corner, Forrester straightened away from the vampire, and snorted. “What a complete arse! Do you think he’ll remember the two gents off to fuck in the slums, now?” Alucard had to match two strides to Forrester’s one.

“Probably for the rest of his pious life,” Alucard responded drily, wondering if he should ask, and then decided to. “The idea does not offend you? Two men together?”

Forrester looked startled, and then shrugged. “Not especially. I will admit it doesn’t fill my glass, but I figure it dunnit hurt anything and if they are happy, who’s to say? You and I both know that the Christian spew about it being sinful is complete horse shite, so really, it comes down to whether human morality is something you want to adhere to.” Alucard nodded, pleased.

A slow, seductive grin spread across the werewolf's face, and he leered at the vampire. “Alucard, didya feel something back there for me? Want to howl at the full moon together?”

The vampire threw him a sideways glance, and batted his lashes. “What can I say? You smelled nice, and suspenders make my mouth water.” Forrester’s chuckle was deep and amused. He gave the vampire an up and down admiring gaze. Unbelievably, Alucard felt a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

“You’re blushing like a bride in the chapel!” the werewolf teased and then said, “Ah, laugh it off, I already know we'd fight over who'd be on top. As for my suspenders, some of us aren’t bean poles. I need them for my pants, or you’d be howling at _my_ full moon, ya jib.”

 _We'd fight over who'd be on top? Really? **That's** what wouldn't work between us?_ he thought. Alucard had no interest in sex with the werewolf and it's not a surprise to the vampire. He had no interest in sex with anyone. It probably would shock Forrester to know that Alucard had been celibate for his entire immortal life.“Keep it in your pants, Forrester,” Alucard said warningly.

“Aye, that’s what the suspenders are for,” Forrester retorted, chuckling.

They came to the building and Forrester rounded the corner to knock on Elizabeth’s door. Alucard approached the windowpane, and from ten feet away he could smell it. He didn't even have to look in. Death in a struggle; an end brought in violence and bathed in despair? That smell was unique and unmistakable. _Son of a bitch,_ the vampire thought, the last threads of his amusement with Forrester burning away under his fury. Casually, he edged to the front of the building, and tried the door to the room. Locked.

He went back to the windowpane and considered. There was nothing for it. After a quick glance around, he misted into the room. He held his breath, reached into his pocket for the scented vial, and liberally applied it under his nose. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he unlocked the door for Forrester and took in the scene he would revisit in his nightmares for the next century.

He couldn’t even tell if this had been a woman. The body was lying naked in the middle of the bed, the shoulders flat, but slightly turned to the left. The head was turned toward him, as if pleading for something. _Mercy, perhaps,_ Alucard reflected. One arm was wrapped over the horror of the torso, and the other extended, hand in a clenched fist. _She’d been posed,_ he thought, noting that the arm across her torso wasn’t torn up to the same extent as the flesh below it. It was still mutilated, but not stripped. The legs were wide apart, the left leg making a triangle with the right. There was nothing but a mess where her genitals were.

 _A triangle again,_ he thought, looking at the legs. He started to make a mental note to mention this to his sister. _Laura,_ he thought with dismay and debated for several moments. There was a soft trio of knocks, and Alucard opened the door to Forrester. John was behind him. “John, we need a lookout,” the vampire whispered. “If we are found here, Forrester will go to prison. This is the Ripper; there is no doubt.” The Lad nodded and went out.

Forrester stepped in and, Alucard noted, deliberately looked at the vampire and not the bed. “ ** _I’ll_** go to prison?” the werewolf asked with a wry tone.

“I can mist out of here Forrester, you can’t,” Alucard murmured, aware of the thinness of the walls.

“Bugger that, ye arse. Can’t mist if I’ve knocked you out,” Forrester muttered, “They’re looking for you anyway, on account of Gail’s witnessing you with…” He caught Alucard’s cold stare. “Right, ugh, that was a right pisser of me, and I’m sorry. This whole thing…”

“Cormac, I understand. I feel the same,” Alucard said.

The werewolf shifted in the small room, and exhaled a sharp sigh. “Alright then, what do you want me to do?” he asked and Alucard took pity on him.

“Look over the room for any signs of the killer,” the vampire said, “I’ll take the corpse, I’m half done anyway.” Forrester clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a better man than me, Mr. Belmont.” Something passed between them; another tie in an already complicated relationship. _It is a shame that Laura doesn’t feel anything for him,_ Alucard reflected, _he’s got a good heart._ Given everything Alucard knew about her history though, he wasn't sure she could ever feel anything romantic for anyone ever again. It was a shame really; she deserved happiness.

Alucard knew she was content with him, and felt blessed to have the connection he had with her. Their trust and love was a huge part of his life. He would do anything for her and that included wanting her to find romantic love, even if it meant that she might not be as close with him anymore. 

_Speaking of trust,_ he thought, _damn it…_ and opened the bloodlink. He knocked on his mental connection with Laura and waited. While he waited, he looked back at the body. The flesh on the surface of the abdomen and thighs had been cut away. The guts were strewn wildly, as thought they’d been scooped out and thrown in the air like rice at a wedding. Organs joined them; bleeding, deflated bits of the innards of what was once a living soul.

“Holy hell, Alucard, I’ve got body parts over here,” Forrester said, and the vampire turned. There was the missing belly and thigh slices, looking like disgusting steaks awaiting consumption on the table. The vampire’s gorge rose, and he nodded to Forrester.

“Touch nothing, the police will need all the help they can get,” the vampire reminded him. Forrester rolled his eyes.

“The morons don’t have a chance and you and I both know it,” Forrester muttered, but Alucard noted his hands went into his pockets. Laura opened the bloodlink and he heard her concern in her words.

 _Where are you? The sun rises in forty minutes,_ she said to him in his mind.

 _It’s overcast. It will be unpleasant, but not deadly. There’s been another one,_ he answered her, and felt her panic rise sharply.

 _No, Alucard! Are you sure, is it the Ripper?_ She asked and he looked around him.

 _Very sure,_ he said grimly.

 _Show me,_ she told him and he sighed.

 _It’s ugly Laura, worse than the others,_ he said _. I swear, the man truly went insane this time and I don’t think…_

 _Fucking show me!_ she said sharply; Alucard felt her fear, and her desperate need to believe this wasn’t the Ripper again.

He focused on the edge of the body and the blood pooled on the floor, deliberately cropping the image of the mutilations. His sister hissed an oath, and her despair was a sour essence in his mind. _It’s him, there can be no mistake, and you haven’t even shown me the worst of it,_ she said. _I’m coming._

 _No Laura, really,_ he thought back to her, _we are on borrowed time, the space is tiny and by the time you get here the police should be on their way. Forrester is with me; I am not alone._

 _Thanks be to the dark for that at least,_ she said. _Open yourself to me and send me the unedited version. I can help, and we need to catch this bastard, Alucard. No more working separate leads. This must end._

 _I know, that is why I knocked,_ he agreed. _No more loss Laura. We will catch him and we will kill him._ He felt her agreement and the settling of her emotions. _Brace yourself,_ he told her and opened himself further. He felt her grief, her pity and her anger. It was with relief that he didn’t feel hopelessness, or something darker.

 _He posed her_ , his sister said almost immediately, _look at her legs, it’s a triangle._

 _Yes, I saw that. Did you ever come to a conclusion in that regard?_ he asked her.

 _Nothing I was really happy with_ , she admitted, frustration oozing through the link. _The ones that seemed most likely, still didn’t seem to fit. Its base meanings would be as you’d suspect: balance, rising up, fulfillment, culmination. In classical literature, the triangle is importance or unity. It’s the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet, delta, as you know. In physics, Delta represents change. In the Brotherhood’s faith, the triangle symbolized three, specifically for the…_

 _The Father, Son and Holy Spirit,_ he interrupted, taking the punishing burns for using the holy titles, instead of allowing her to suffer.

 _Precisely,_ Laura said, her tone suggesting she knew what he’d done. _As an aside, I didn’t know this, but it appears that the triangle was also used for Dracula when he took control of the Blood and Moon Kingdoms. It’s not common, and to be honest, I don’t think it applies here._

 _I don’t think it's relevant either,_ Alucard said, _but I do remember that now, actually. I stopped seeing it in the 15 th or 16th century. _

_Archaic and highly unlikely to matter to the Ripper,_ she replied and then asked, _are there any other triangles on her, or even another symbol?_

Alucard continued his examination of the body, aware that Forrester had stilled behind him and was leaning against the door. The breasts were cut off and the neck sliced so deeply he could see the white bone peeking out of the bloody mess. The bruising around the neck suggested the killer either cut so hard that he inflicted the bruises on impact, or possibly strangled her first. Alucard fervently hoped the long gash had been the death blow; it would have been fast.

The face had been hacked horribly, worse than Catherine and to the point where identification was impossible. Mary Jane's appearance was devastated; flesh gashed in all directions and the nose, cheeks, eyebrows, and ears partly removed. The lips were blanched and cut by several incisions running obliquely down to the chin. There were also numerous cuts extending irregularly across all the features.

The hatred and madness inflicted on the poor woman was enough that he shuddered. The vampire felt Laura’s answering shiver, and she spoke into his mind. _This feels personal, Alucard._ _Look at what he did to her. It’s like he didn’t want to anyone to see her and feel anything but revulsion. This is far more extensive than the others._

 _I agree,_ he thought back _. He came into her home, which is a huge risk. He’d be trapped if discovered. The killer had to know she’d be alone, to know she didn’t have a roommate or a partner or even a customer._

 _Yes,_ Laura’s certainty bled through the link. _This took time, strength and energy. The others were bad, but this is a punishment, like he is trying to remove everything that made her human._

The bed clothing was saturated with blood, and on the floor beneath, was a pool of blood. The wall by the right side of the bed and in a line with the neck was sprayed with blood which had struck it in several places.

 _How could he leave unseen?_ Laura asked, _he’d have been **dripping** in blood_. _Is there any on the floor? Any bloody footprints?_

Alucard looked at the floor and then at Forrester. The werewolf arched a brow. “Was there any evidence of blood droplets, footprints, spatter on that side of the room?” the vampire asked him. Forrester frowned, and then shook his head.

“Nothing, save the table and the bits,” Forrester whispered back.

 _How can that be?_ Alucard asked Laura, _that’s impossible._

 _I don’t know, but move her arm, the one on the torso?_ Laura asked him. _I think I see something._

Alucard looked at Forrester. “I need to touch the body. Can you find a cloth from that side?” Forrester looked nonplussed and then straightened from the wall to the clothes trunk. He returned with a stocking; Alucard used it to wrap around the corpse's fingers and lift. He peered under the arm and Laura hissed, while he gagged.

 _“_ Her heart _,_ he said to Forrester _,_ it’s _gone.”_ The werewolf swallowed hard, a repulsed grimace on his face.

 _He’ll eat it,_ Laura said with bitter fury. _That way he has her, and everything that mattered to her, forever. That fucking monster._

There was a soft trio of knocks at the door. Startled, Alucard dropped the stocking, and the arm flopped back, trapping the stocking in the mess of the torso. He groaned, and tried to lightly pick it out of the wounds. He heard Forrester open the door behind him and the subsequent, hissed conversation. People were starting to move about, and it was becoming risky to remain. _Time to go_ , the vampire thought, and extended his golden talons to pluck the stocking out. The twisted fabric was a slender snake that slide over the bloody torso, and left a snake-like streak on the sheets. Alucard paused, and looked at the mark it left. Awareness flooded him, and Laura inhaled sharply.

“Alucard, we must go,” Forrester said, and the vampire held up a finger.

 _Do you see it?_ he asked her, and she excitedly exclaimed an affirmative. He turned to Forrester and John, and told them to get out so he could lock the door. After they left, he took a moment to look at the sheets around the body and saw the faint marks of similar design. Scrutinizing the walls beside the bed, and quickly whirling to look over the rest of the room, he located two more marks at the table with the body parts, and one tiny streak at the broken windowpane, which also reminded him to replace the cloth that had been poked out.

 _You must leave, you cannot be seen at a murder scene again_ , Laura told him and he agreed, saying he would be home soon.

 _Bring Forrester,_ she told him and closed the bloodlink. He misted out of the room by way of the stovepipe and up the chimney. Materializing on the rooftop he blinked twice in the faint light of the coming day, and banged on the bloodlink once more. Laura answered immediately, concerned at the pounding, but instantly shouted exuberantly at the images he sent her. There were bloody streaks all over the rooftop, sinuous, twisted lengths like vines. His anticipation rose sharply when, at the edge of the roof where he went to whistle to Forrester, he discovered a single, half-print of a man’s boot.

 _I have you now you bastard,_ he thought, senses spiking in anticipation of the hunt. A warning he couldn't possibly understand, the grey skies started to patter soft rain, as though they wept for what was to come.

\--- 

I found a bird  
Closing her eyes  
One last time  
And I wonder if she dreamed like me

I'm not afraid  
I push through the pain  
And I'm on fire  
I remember how to breathe again

As much as it hurts  
Ain't it wonderful to feel?

So go on and break your wings  
Follow your heart  
Till it bleeds  
As we run towards the end of the dream

 _-“The End of the Dream,”_ Evanescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to be three parts, and I apologize I couldn't keep it to that. I found myself falling in love with this timeline and the dynamics of Alucard and Forrester. Unfortunately this means that I am running over my word count and falling behind.
> 
> I have most of the finale already written now, because I intended to just make this chapter really big but decided to split it instead (8k chapters aren't my modus operandi). Hopefully you'll enjoy the ending :) Thanks!
> 
> ***Special thanks to wikipedia for the crime scene details, casebook.org for the weather and sunrise details, Alexander Mils for the blood city photograph and Alexander Krivitskiy for the stunningly disturbing nude.


	4. 'the bloody knife that took it out'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio discovers the calling card of the Ripper and that leads them to a possible name. It is the full moon and Forrester's impending change results in a side trip that will culminate in an explosive confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura slammed the door to the library loudly and stalked forward, muttering to herself. "Stupid, bloody, dumb-as-mud prick doesn't even know..." Alucard looked up abruptly, surprised to see her, much less hear her swear. He took in her ocean-under-a-full-moon blue afternoon dress, the tightly fitted silk and satin patterned with bronze flowers, and paired with delicate bronze kid leather gloves. Laura dropped the human glamor she’d been projecting. She had obviously just arrived, and was in the process of unpinning the tiny, matching cap tufted with pheasant feathers from her intricately bound hair.

"Uh, Laura?" Alucard said quietly, and her head snapped up. She froze, arms around her head, and a fierce blush plumed as she realized he was not alone. Forrester’s eyebrows were raised in amusement, and he was unsuccessfully attempting to hide his grin. It was December 27, 1888 and the werewolf had stopped by to discuss the messages they'd received in regards to their continuing Ripper enquiries.

"I beg your pardon, that was rude," she murmured, and visibly composed herself. Alucard knew she preferred not to swear in front of others. It was rare for even him to hear her swear, and it was always when she was angry.

"It wasn't rude, trust me. I assume the prick in question deserved it," Forrester said, rising in deference to her, tongue firmly in cheek. Laura's flush deepened, but she nodded.

"I am quite tired of being told that the Ripper murders aren't a topic fit for discussion for a woman. Suffer well, we're the ones who are being murdered!" she exclaimed with irritation.

"This sounds like you've spoken with Jackson?" the White Wolf asked her, and she nodded again. "I take it, he wanted to speak with me instead." Laura made a face and sighed.

“He’s such a..” her eyes flicked to Forrester, “stuffed shirt.”

Forrester came over to her. “Don’t you mean a prig?” he asked her with a laugh, and bowed over her hand.

Laura snickered in response, although her color stayed high, “Yes, that is the term I was thinking.”

Alucard rose as well, prepared to offer her assistance with her hat and coat, but was surprised when Forrester offered. He could tell from her quick blink that Laura was too, but she smiled, and accepted the werewolf's assistance. _Interesting,_ Alucard thought, _he’s usually very careful not to touch her_. She gave the werewolf her back, to allow him to take her coat. Forrester delicately peeled her out of it, and tossed it over his arm, before reaching for her hair. The vampire was in a unique position to see both of their faces as he watched the gentle brush of Forrester’s fingers in Laura’s hair.

What he saw in Forrester’s face was confirmation of what he’d suspected, but there was a depth of feeling there he had not guessed at. Even more concerning, there was something in that furrowed brow that suggested Forrester had decided to act on his feelings. On Laura’s face he saw a dawning awareness, and thought, _Yes Laura, there are romantic feelings there for him._

At the same time, his heart stumbled for her. She liked Forrester a great deal, and if his affections were not shared by her, it was likely she would pull away from the friendship. _Which could get very sticky_ , Alucard reflected unhappily. Forrester lifted the little cap from her head, and Laura stepped gracefully away before turning.

“My thanks, Forrester,” she told him, and offered a small smile. The werewolf smiled back and nodded, turning away to lay the items on the lounge. Alucard had to grin. The cap looked like a child’s toy in that massive palm. She took a chair by the fire, and waited for Forrester to take his seat, before speaking again. “Jackson finally gave me the report, but insisted that I deliver it to you without reading. It’s in the hall with my reticule, I thought you were out, and laid it on the side table so you wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’ll retrieve it,” Forrester said and left.

“ _Alucard_ ,” Laura said quietly, as soon as the door closed. Her voice was filled with trepidation, and he shook his head.

“Later, Laura,” he said, “it will keep.” Her wet-moss green eyes met his, and he knew she wanted to talk about Forrester. It was a conversation he was not looking forward to if she was alarmed by Forrester's interest. The werewolf returned, and Alucard opened the envelope, pulling out several sheets of paper.

“Here,” he said and distributed them to his companions, “read please, and we’ll summarize.” A silence descended on the study, and the fire crackled. Forrester was the last to finish reading, and when he looked up, his face was somber.

“I had the first two pages, I will go first,” Forrester said. “The body was horrendously mutilated, as we know. The examiner believes Mary Jane was dead within moments, the blow to the throat being the death blow. There were some defensive wounds on her hands,” Laura murmured unhappily, and the werewolf stopped. “I know, I can’t stand it either. It gets worse. Should I—” Laura shook her head and he took a deep breath before continuing.

“He took her heart, just as Laura noted. While her body was eviscerated, and her ability to bear children… was treated as shamefully as the others, the heart was the only thing removed. The examiner stated that this took at least two hours to damage Mary Jane like this. Of course, they are assuming the murderer was human, in that calculation.”

Forrester sighed unhappily, “They mention that the strength in the blows to the throat was substantial to produce bruises of that magnitude on impact, confirming a man, and they suspect a large one at that. Again, this may be completely inaccurate now that we know that there is an immortal involved.” He put his papers down, and reached for his whiskey.

“I believe I have the next pages,” Laura said quietly, “They note that there was an absurd amount of blood, but almost no indication of the killers passing.”

“Almost none?” Alucard seized on that, leaning forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw fresh interest in Forrester’s eye.

“Yes. They determined that the killer lit a fire in the stove, likely for light to work by, using Mary’s clothing, and that he likely exited by the window but the 8:30 am rain likely washed it away,” Laura’s exasperation was plan.

“There’s a lot of ‘likely’ in there Laura,” Forrester said sourly. She gave him a rueful look.

“Their words, not mine,” she retorted.

“So they have no bloody idea how he got in, or how he didn’t have blood on him,” Forrester growled, leaning back in his chair heavily, and straightening quickly as it creaked in protest.

“Don’t worry, it’s strong,” Alucard said with a small grin. Forrester grunted, but relaxed slightly.

“Essentially yes,” Laura said. “I also saw no mention of the roof being investigated either.” She looked at Alucard with admiration. “Their mistake of course.”

The White Wolf shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you, it wasn’t a brilliant deduction, it was an accident.” Laura’s obvious appreciation was embarrassing and completely misplaced.

“Humility is all well and good Alucard, but seriously, it was the first real break we’ve had. Take the praise, it’s deserved,” Forrester said, toasting him with his glass.

Alucard cleared his throat, and held up his notes. “I believe it is my turn,” he said and shuffled his papers. “The witness statements indicate she was a lovely person who fell in with the wrong crowd. She was a prostitute, same as the others, so he definitely has a type. The interesting thing about Mary was that she walked around quite a bit that night and, if it is to be believed, with her attacker.”

“I did not see that outcome on the horizon,” Laura murmured, and Forrester nodded, eyebrows climbing. Alucard continued, “He is described at length in these documents, but the essential details are a pale complexion, a slight moustache turned up at the corners, dark hair, dark eyes, and bushy eyebrows. He was wearing a long dark coat trimmed in astrakhan, a white collar with a black necktie fixed with a horseshoe pin. He sported a massive gold chain in his waistcoat, with a large seal with a red stone fob hanging from it. He is 5' 6" or 5' 7" tall, and about 35 or 36 years old. He was heard calling Mary Jane his dear, and that she would be comfortable. He also gave her a red handkerchief, which was not recovered.”

“He gave her a _red_ handkerchief?” Laura asked sharply, eyes huge. “ _Alucard!”_

Both men looked at her, startled. “What? What is it?” he asked her, but Laura had jumped on her feet, and misted to her desk on the other side of the library. The desk was glossy black lacquer with illustrations in white and gold and a curved top with twin spikes. The landscape across it was delicate and remote, the mountaintops and pagodas lost amongst drifting clouds, the wings of cranes and a large, twining dragon. They had discovered it in a tiny, ancient shop in Hangzhou almost half a century ago and she’d immediately loved it. She shipped it all the way back.

She opened the wide drawer at the bottom and yanked some papers out, spreading them on the desktop. “Remember the sketches I did, the morning you went to see the murder scene? I wanted to catalogue the images you sent me and compare them to the police sketches you’d obtained of Mary Ann, Catherine and Annie. I was looking for more symbols.”

“Yes, Laura, I recall, but I don’t…” Alucard started, but she interrupted, striding over to them and placing two pages in his hands. She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned over to look with him. Both pages were black and white pencil sketches. Alucard sucked in his breath, and Forrester rose to look over his shoulder. The first sketch showed the end of Mary Jane’s bed frame with a chest of drawers. It had a broken second drawer, a clutch of flowers on the top, paired with a small, framed portrait draped with what looked like a napkin. The second sketch was a close up of the top.

Alucard had noted the attention to detail first, something starkly lovely and sad about the dried baby’s breath, and the framed silhouette of a man, lovingly draped with a square of cloth, a stylized H that had a long tail on it. What had made him inhale were the notes Laura had put on the side margins:

- _chest is pine, slight blood spatter suggesting MJ may have kicked in death throes,_

_-no glass in the portrait frame,_

_-baby’s breath at least two years old, possibly lover?_

_-man’s moustache seems older style, and the black paper is faded, possibly father or husband?_

_-handkerchief, seems newer? Crimson, with an H. H for Horne Bros. Ltd? Check. And beside it, a note in ink. **Yes. Established 1885. Shade of red was Exxter special, no sale.**_

Forrester raised his head, and asked Laura, “What’s Exxter special?”

“It’s ‘Easter,’” she flinched and Alucard could smell her blood. The werewolf murmured in dismay, but she waved it away. “I cannot write the word without causing burns to the pages, so I substituted. The wound for saying it is marginal, do not concern yourself.”

“No wound you suffer is marginal,” Forrester said quietly, and Alucard felt Laura’s hand on him flex. _Best to intervene_ , he thought, and cleared his throat.

“You did quite a bit of work on this, what were you looking for?” the White Wolf asked, looking up at her.

His sister’s eyes were grateful, and she answered quickly, “I couldn’t say. I was trying to find connections, and wasn’t sure what might be relevant later. I remember at the time looking into the handkerchief because it was the only thing that seemed new in the whole room. A gentleman’s handkerchief from one of the nicer establishments seemed odd.”

She smiled, “I recognized Horne’s logo because I was able to secure some hawking positions for some of the Lads’ sons there, for their opening week. I actually bought you some gloves and handkerchiefs there, because I wanted to support them. The store is quite solid in their quality.”

“Aye, Horne’s is quality, but affordable. Is that our man then, quality but not nobility?” Forrester asked, returning to his seat and picking up his glass. He remained standing out of deference to Laura, something that Alucard sensed was not lost on her. She quickly seated herself again, and Forrester sat. The White Wolf caught her tiny fidgeting adjustment of her skirt and felt his heart sink. _She is uncomfortable,_ he thought.

“It seems like it’s possible,” Alucard said, looking at Forrester, and giving Laura a moment to settle. “He can read and write, but makes mistakes when he is excited. He gives the appearance of shabby genteel, which yes, I ironically fit into when I visited Lizzie, but seems to be consistent with this new sighting. Likely he wears his old clothes when he visits his victims, which would explain the quality of the cut, but the poor repair.”

“Alucard, do we know if he gave anything else to any of the other women?” Laura asked suddenly. “You have the list of their personal effects still, yes?”

“Forrester?” Alucard asked and the man nodded, retrieving the piles from Alucard’s desk, where they’d been working when Laura arrived. Forrester sat, and started to thumb through them. “Here, let me give you a hand,” Alucard said, and both he and Laura joined him. Each one took a pile- Laura took Annie, he took Mary Ann and Forrester worked on Lizzie.

“Bloody hell,” Forrester said. “Lizzie had a silk handkerchief, red.” He paused and then looked at Alucard, “she was wearing it, this says.”

Alucard felt his fury, and anticipation rise. “No, she wasn’t. Not when I saw her and I have no reason to think she changed into it. According to the timeline of when she was found, I had been gone barely thirty minutes and it would have taken her ten to get where they discovered her.”

Forrester looked down again and flipped through his pages. Alucard felt real excitement when he scanned his own pages, and told the others, “We have got something here. Mary Ann had a white pocket handkerchief. There is no note as to where it was on her person, but just guess what was monogrammed on it?”

“A stylized H?” Laura asked excitedly. Alucard’s smile felt feral, and he knew he probably looked every inch a vampire.

“Precisely.” He said with satisfaction. “It’s noted here that they thought she likely picked it, as it was virtually spotless and the monogram wasn’t her initials. It appears that the metropolitan police don’t shop as you do. They didn’t catch that it was a store.”

“It’s Horne’s,” Forrester growled with an almost sensual pleasure, as he held up more papers, “this is our lead. It’s noted in the officer’s report on the body positions for Lizzie. The silk was Horne’s, and he made a note because of the ‘fine quality and seeming newness of the item.’

Laura looked up abruptly at both of them, eyes shining. “Annie wore a neckerchief of white with a wide red border. I wanted to be sure, and I found the eyewitness statement, it was Horne’s. The Ripper is buying them, and marking them with them. It’s a calling card.”

Forrester surged up, “Let me check Catherine’s.” He bent over and pawed through the file to the statement of items. One large finger followed the page and stopped. “One white kerchief with a red bird’s eye border.” He looked up at them, grin wickedly excited and a little hungry. “We’ve got the mother.”

\---

“I hate that, I hate it so much Alucard, it’s so invasive and horrid and I can’t stand it,” Laura muttered, shivering, as they exited Horne’s Brothers Ltd. on Dec 28, 1888 at approximately 4:30 pm. The sun was low, and the skies were leaden, heavy with clouds. Sleet was expected and while the sun was irritating to both of them, it wasn’t deadly. The White Wolf put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I know Laura, I know. I am sorry for it, truly, but it had to be done,” he soothed, leading her to the carriage.

Forrester had been at the store first thing this morning, asking to speak to the store manager. He’d asked, then attempted to bribe and resorted to threatening the man into providing the information on repeat handkerchief purchasers. They’d been working off the theory that the killer either bought in large quantities, or bought just before the dates of the killings. They’d focused on those two options for their request.

The manager, Charles, had flatly refused to provide any information, and had made the mistake of calling Forrester a derogatory Irish slur. Needless to say, Alucard could only imagine it had been a scene. Forrester had sent him a message that he had been unsuccessful, and Alucard had come to Laura.

Both the vampires could glamor. Glamors worked in two forms. One was presenting an image to disguise appearance or suggest something that wasn’t there. The other, a far more delicate and intricate process, was essentially a form of hypnosis. You captured the gaze of the person you wanted to influence, and projected your suggestion on them. It was not quite telepathy, but sort of a gentle caress while murmuring into their mind. Like all caresses, some worked better than others, and the more skilled the glamorer, the more successful it was likely to be.

Neither he nor Laura ever used the hypnotic form of glamors; not needing them, or caring for the way it removed the victim’s free will. He could have tried it but the truth was, Laura’s intuitive, sensitive nature made her one of the best glamorers he’d ever seen. She instinctively understood how to shift, press and touch the person, or beast, she was glamoring. Her subjects literally became eager children, begging to please. The downside was that Laura was just as open to them, as they were to her, and it often left her with bits of the person’s thoughts and memories rattling inside her. It was violating on both sides.

“A hot bath and perhaps a strong drink when we get home,” he said to her and she sagged gratefully into the carriage seat.

“Mr. Belmont! Sir!” came the thin cry down the block. Alucard turned, and Laura poked her head out of the carriage. It was a tiny boy, perhaps seven years old, who raced up to him, and took a deep breath. “Mr. Forrester, he asks you to come by immediately as he is leaving the city right away, before the moon comes up. He wants a report.”

Alucard was slightly irritated; he had planned to see Forrester after settling Laura. _Why is he leaving the city?_ the vampire wondered. _To get there before the moon rose meant he’d have to go right now_. _Why the—_. Laura interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s a full moon tonight Alucard, he can’t wait. We should go now. It’s alright,” she murmured and he nodded. _Of course,_ he thought, _the full moon. I completely forgot about that._

He turned to the boy, “Do you need a ride back to Williams Street?” and the boy looked shocked.

“I could ride, with the driver?” the boy asked, and Alucard smiled.

“You could ride in the carriage,” the White Wolf said, and enjoyed the huge eyes and dropped jaw.

“Yes sir! Please sir; I would be honored!” the little boy said, and scrambled up the steps after Alucard.

The ride to Forrester’s was charming. Initially the boy, George, had sat rigidly on the seat beside Alucard, and stared out the window. Laura had asked him questions about his family, and then told him to look out her window as they passed Harrod’s window display, so he could see the Christmas decorations and toys. George had practically flown over to her, and ended up accidentally falling into her lap when they went over a rough spot in the cobblestones.

The boy had been terrified, stammering apologies, but Laura had laughed and stroked his hair, telling him that she didn’t mind. Well that had done it. Twenty minutes later, Alucard knew more about George’s sad life, and eight siblings than he would have guessed was possible. When Laura caught his eye, he’d already resolved to set up a stipend for the single mother, and see if she could do in-house tailoring. She would need to get divorced though, because the father, who’d disappeared two years ago, would come back once the money flowed. But they needed to get her off the streets, and stop the flow of strange men into the family home. Laura’s gaze solidified the plan for him.

Once they arrived, and said goodbye to George, they found themselves ushered into the building that Forrester called home, and office. Two floors of ‘offices’ and then two more of apartments, this was the headquarters of the Lads. Tonight it was a ghost town. Due to the full moon, the majority of the Lads had headed into the tunnels under the building to lock themselves in the cages. The older, more powerful werewolves had left the city entirely, leaving for long runs in the forests of the countryside. Forrester did not allow killings in the city and discouraged human killings, period. As such, he gave leave for his men to make themselves scarce once they reached a certain rank. Otherwise, into the cages they went.

They were directed to Forrester’s apartment, which was a surprise to Alucard. He had only ever been there twice himself, and Laura never had. Ascending the stairs to the fourth floor, Alucard knocked on the navy door, and looked at Laura. She appeared calm but he knew she was likely nervous. This was the first time they’d seen Forrester since the moment with her coat and cap in their library.

Last night she had told Alucard that she thought that the werewolf might be attracted to her. She wasn’t sure to exactly what degree he was interested, but she’d heard his breath change when he’d touched her hair, and his scent had deepened. Something about it had made her think it might be from desire. Alucard had refrained from telling her it most definitely had been.

Rather than share that comment, he asked her what she would do if Forrester was interested in her romantically. Rubbing her hands over her face and sighing deeply, she said that Forrester was very nice, and she respected him a great deal, but she had never considered him in a romantic light. When she’d blushed over the word ‘romantic’, he’d felt a prickle of awareness. Looking him in the eye, she said that she was conflicted about the whole thing. Evidently, she hadn’t immediately rejected the idea as impossible.

The answer to his question of attraction had caused an even deeper flush, and she’d mumbled something about ‘impressive physique, clothed and unclothed,’ that had his cheeks heating. He’d backtracked immediately, and said he hadn’t meant attraction in that specific manner; rather if there was an overall interest in the idea of exploring a relationship. When she’d swallowed, and looked helpless while spreading her hands, he resolved to remain as neutral to the whole thing as possible. If there was a _chance_ that she would even consider a relationship, he didn’t want her to bypass it, simply because he’d said the wrong thing. Instead he suggested to her that she should give herself time and just be open to whatever she felt in the moment.

Forrester opened the door, and turned back towards the sitting room. “Come in Alucard, I will just be a moment. I have to hurry; I must leave in the next twenty to get out of the city by the time the moon rises, and of course, one of the cages needed repairs, and I only had two men to do it with! I was filthy from it, you can only imagine, so I’ve just bathed as quickly as possible and you’ve caught me in the middle. I’ll just—” He must have realized something was amiss, because he turned and started, “ _Laura!_ _I beg your pardon_ , I didn’t realize you’d be attending as well! Suffer well, please excuse me; I will go to the bedroom to finish getting dressed!”

Forrester walked quickly over to the bedroom door, and shut it. Alucard looked at Laura. Wide-eyed, with a funny quirk to her lips, she was staring after the werewolf. Amusement welled up in Alucard, and he gave in to the urge to tease. He knocked on the blood link. It took her a moment, but she answered. _Impressive physique indeed,_ he said to her without preamble, and he could feel Laura’s rueful embarrassment.

 _I told you!_ she said, slightly breathless. _And it was a lot darker when I saw him the first time,_ she said, _I got a decent look then, but this was... daylight._

 _At least he wasn’t naked this time,_ Alucard answered. _I have to say, he is well built._

Laura snickered. _While he had pants on this time, they were riding low, and unbuttoned at that. In some ways, he might as well have been. That being said, if you want to proposition him, you know I support you._

 _My dear heart, he is attractive to be sure,_ Alucard purred back _, but you and I both know that I don’t have sexual interest in anyone. Ever._

 _Really? This doesn’t interest you at all?_ She sent him an image of Forrester as he’d turned back to them, but before he’d looked up. Broad shoulders sprinkled with freckles, a wide, solid chest and deep red hair curling across his chest and down a rippling, muscular abdomen. He noted that Laura had even scrutinized the odd scarring across the werewolf's bicep. He could sense her appreciation for the way the scar curved over the muscle like a squeezing set of fingers, when Forrester had run a hand through his still-wet hair. More than once in his life, he'd been grateful that Laura didn't mind scars. It meant she didn't scream bloody murder the handful of times she'd accidentally seen him shirtless. Alucard was very aware he was hideously disfigured.

But when he caught her idle curiosity on whether the pattern of hair that covered the werewolf’s chest and torso would still be as brightly copper all the way down, Alucard interrupted. _Alright woman, I was teasing, and that is about all I want to know, or even speculate about. As I said, I am not interested in Forrester, but I can concur, he is a magnificent specimen. And on that note, I am leaving you to your indecorous thoughts._ He closed the blood link, just as Forrester opened his bedroom door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laura’s tongue which she’d stuck out at him in response to his ‘indecorous thoughts’ comment, snap back into her head.

“Oh Gods, I am so sorry, really, you don’t have to stand in the hallway. It is safe to come in, I assure you. I am very sorry, that was incredibly rude,” Forrester raked a hand through his hair again, and Alucard sighed. The image Laura had sent him, and the subsequent thoughts she'd had, were going to stay with him for a while now. 

“It’s fine. We were just talking, and got distracted,” Laura said smoothly, and stepped inside. “I apologize for arriving unannounced. This is your home; you have every right to be comfortable in it, as you see fit.”

“I don’t make a habit of answering the door shirtless to visiting women,” Forrester muttered, and blinked when Laura walked up to him and offered her hand. He cocked his head at her, and then bent over her hand, sliding his under her gloved one.

“They weep for the loss; I am sure,” Alucard said tartly, still annoyed that he was now thinking about his friend’s chest when he really didn’t want to, or care to. He moved into the apartment, and closed the door.

Forrester snorted, and indicated Laura should sit. “Pity,” Laura murmured, and Forrester’s eyebrows could not go higher.

“Ah, yes, well, again I apologize, " the werewolf managed. "I also apologize because I cannot offer you any refreshment either, I am hard-pressed for time, but I would have you over at a later date, when I am able to entertain you in the manner with which you deserve.”

Laura’s smile was warm and wide. “That would be lovely, we would love that. I could bring a cake.”

Alucard resisted clucking sympathetically at poor Forrester’s obvious disconcertion. Laura was in fine form today, evidently having decided to participate in whatever it was between them since seeing the man's chest. He thought Forrester would be better suited to this sort of flirtation, but he was obviously wrong. Alucard frowned. He’d never paid attention to Forrester’s romantic liaisons before, but he seemed to recall that when they’d first started working together, the gang leader had always been in the company of women. It had been some time now, since he’d seen him flirting actually. When had that stopped? 

Alucard shook it off and put his briefcase on the table. Opening it, he withdrew the sheaves of paper that Charles had given them and turned back to the pair. Laura looked at him expectantly, and Forrester looked at Laura. Alucard tried not to analyze what he saw there, but it made him smile nonetheless.

“I will be brief in deference to your timeline,” the vampire said. “There are thirty-two names and addresses here, all of whom purchased a significant quantity of kerchiefs in the last eight months or purchased close to the dates of the killings and for all five occasions. Laura and I will go through them and try to determine who we can eliminate. This will be time consuming, but I believe it is our best lead.”

“That is spectacular work,” Forrester said and looked at Laura, “your talent made this possible.”

She grinned, a light blush on her cheeks, “Alucard’s blood link made this possible!”

“Aye, that too,” Forrester looked up with a grin, “you two should hire yourselves out as detectives.”

“The three of us could open shop, ‘Belmont & Forrester,’” Alucard spread his hands like envisioning a picture.

Forrester laughed and then stood, “I have to leave the city tonight, but should be back by tomorrow evening. See what you can accomplish, and I can have my Lads run down the leads that seem less likely.”

“Where are you headed to?” Laura asked, and Forrester looked over as he opened his bedroom door and retrieved a shabby jacket. His clothes were almost rags. _In defense of the fact he would likely lose them when he transitioned,_ Alucard thought. _How does he get back in the city if he is naked?_

“Bradford,” Forrester responded easily, “there’s a good stretch to run, and its reasonably close to the city that I can travel there easily. I take the stage coach and get there in two hours, just before the moon rises, which is why I must bid you farewell.”

“But how do you get back?” she cleared her throat, “Um, clothed?”

Forrester grinned. “One of the Lads’ uncles comes for me, and brings me clothes.” 

“But what if he is late?” Laura asked, “what if you need help while you are out there?”

Forrester smiled gently, “I appreciate your concern, but I have done this hundreds of times, I am fine.”

“Why don’t we take you out there?” Laura asked, “We can dig a sleep den, and bury your clothes with us, if we cannot secure light-tight lodgings. We have our own carriage, and our coachmen is used to our peculiarities, he’ll just wait in the inn for instruction. I’ve missed running in the woods; it would be lovely.”

Forrester looked shocked, and Alucard himself was surprised. “Besides,” Laura said with studied casualness, “We could review the papers, and work together while we travel back.”

“How far is Bradford?” Alucard asked and Forrester looked at him.

“With no stops, it’s maybe an hour, if I took a horse. The carriage is at least two. Are you sure you want to do this? I’m afraid I haven’t had company at transition for decades. I am reasonably lucid, but uh, fairly bestial.” His eyes slid to Laura, “Decidedly not good company for a lady.”

Laura’s smile was gentle. “I am not concerned; I have been in the company of werewolves often. Nothing you can do would surprise me, or alarm me. However, if you would prefer, we can travel separately. You can come to us once you’ve transitioned and feel capable of control. In the meantime, I would happily roam the forest. Alucard?” she turned to him, “Tell me you wouldn’t love a run as a wolf.”

 _I would adore one,_ he thought, smile spreading. “I am all for this, as long as it truly is not an inconvenience, Forrester. We can offer you one of our horses, and you could head out first. We could follow with our carriage, and meet at a pre-determined location? Laura is right, we could travel back discussing the case, and just hire someone to bring the horse back. It would be a minor cost, and worth the time saved because we would have the list ready for your Lads to tackle as soon as we return.”

“It’s agreed then, let us make haste,” Forrester said, “I don’t fancy transitioning on the open road.”

\--- 

They don't know you've already lived  
On the other side of the galaxy  
She had a January world  
So many storms not right somehow  
How a lion becomes a mouse  
By the woods…  
She never let on how insane it was  
In that tiny kinda scary house  
By the woods

- _Black Dove (January),_ Tori Amos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the apology section, please listen to me grovel:
> 
> 1) I have to apologize for my level of thirst with Forrester, I am a little bit in love with him and I needed to see him shirtless, for scientific reasons. This was the closest I could find, and my heart is filled with happy. Now if only I could get an audio clip of him speaking because I can hear it in my mind and wooooow, that's hot.
> 
> 2) I have to apologize for a number of liberties I took with this chapter. I have tried to remain consistent and true to the actual facts of the Ripper murders, the locations, historical weather and timeline as I could. I find historical accuracy with such things to be fascinating and to add great flavor. The details of the bodies, the eyewitness statements and the police records are factual. 
> 
> However, while all the women were located with handkerchiefs, none of the items were identified as coming from Horne Brothers, although they were in business at the time. There was no noted arrangement of flowers and portraiture in Mary Jane's room in the police reports. There was no documented full moon on Dec 28, 1888. Perhaps my most glaring sin: Bradford is 338 km away from Whitechapel and certainly not the quick ride I've suggested. My sincere apologies to the geography gods.  
> \---  
> I am indebted to the casebook.org for the tiniest details on Jack the Ripper's victims, especially the detailed inventory of their clothing and items at the time of their death. If you are interested in the subject at all, you will find yourself pouring over some of the finest collections available on the Ripper, London and the life, whereabouts, love lives and details of the victims.


	5. 'From hell'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the final curtain falls, only one man is left standing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forrester arrived to the heart of the forest with minutes to spare. The sun had been a thin orange haze on the horizon with the long shadows of the trees merging into the dark, waiting wood when he’d arrived outside of Bradford. Thankfully he knew this area well, and was assured in his directions to Laura and Alucard. Tying the horse to the tree, he broke into a speedy run toward the river, and felt the hum under his skin turn into a roar.

Submerging himself in the ice-cold water, the burning sensation of his change was balanced by the cold. The werewolf let the familiar sensations wash over him like the water’s current. He drifted as he contorted and thrashed in the swift water, feeling his fingers merge and his claws extend. His bones ached as they crunched, elongated and fused into his wolfen shape. Finally, lungs screaming, he burst from the water, and howled to the rising full moon, exhilarated, savage, and blissfully attuned to utter perfection.

He swam to the edge of the river, and shook his red fur out, retracting his talons. He rolled his powerful shoulders. _There is time yet, before they arrive_ , he thought, and set off on all fours at a fierce pace, following the river further into the wilds. Forrester wanted time to work the natural burst of energy, and the edge of primitive instinct out, before Laura showed up. It was one thing for Alucard to see it, although he would prefer to avoid that; but he would not subject her to it.

 _Especially since every instinct in me is screaming to claim her,_ he thought with frustration. _How could you even consider that in this form, much less imagine it?_ But imagine it he had; from the moment she’d suggested running in the woods together. It was too easy to envision her curves bare to the moonlight, hands fisting in his fur as she sunk down on him in a divinely wet slide. The heat of her body as she welcomed him inside her like some pagan sacrifice to the moon. The soft flush of her skin when she came, calling his name like a wild animal caught by a predator in the dark. 

_You can’t even consider treating her like that, much less that she might enjoy it_ , he thought, slowing his pace to compensate for the inevitable physical reaction to his fantasy. But he had to wonder, maybe she would. Maybe the dark fantasy was something she herself had even wondered. Working closely with Laura and Alucard on the Ripper case has given him new insight into the female vampire and opened him up to the complexity of his feelings for her. She was every inch a lady but there was a dark sensuality to her. Paired with that verve and fury that sometimes flared up, his attraction had deepened to the point that he’d decided he would act on it.

His courting thusfar has been extremely subtle, but if today was any indication, it was working. _Even if it was spurned on by an accident,_ he thought ruefully. He had no intention of flaunting his half-naked body to her. He was painfully aware she’d already seen him naked, and seemed completely ambivalent to it. _But not today_ , he thought, tongue lolling in the night breeze as he grinned.

Initially he’d taken her stunned expression to be horror, but after her quiet comment of ‘pity,’ and then her suggestion they come with him, he was fairly certain that she was making overtures. With anticipation, he pondered what new wonders the evening might bring. If there might be more opportunities for strengthening this new possibility between them.

The full moon had climbed above the horizon now, and the cool day became a cold night. Forrester was about to turn around to head back to the agreed upon meeting spot when he saw the light. It was faint and flickering, but it seemed to be coming from the bend of the river up ahead. _There shouldn’t be anyone out here_ , he thought with alarm, and slowed down to pad forward. The light remained a small, fluttering beacon and was further away than he’d thought. It was the work of several minutes of belly crawling to reach the bank opposite the light. It appeared to be coming from a burrow hole.

Actually, it looked like a werewolf burrow hole. Intrigued, he stood, lightly leapt down to the bank and slipped into the water. Swimming to it, he sniffed at the entrance, and smelled something strange but familiar wafting down the tunnel. He wasn’t surprised by the smell of human blood, after all, most werewolves didn’t abstain as he made his Lads do. Forrester wasn’t a fool. He knew what some of his senior men got up to it when they left the city. He turned a blind eye to it, as long as they were discreet and nothing came back to him about unnecessary killing sprees. Hell, Forrester had been known to pick off some errant assholes from time to time himself, it was just the nature of the beast. Literally. Still, Forrester preferred to kill those that deserved it.

 _What is that smell?_ he wondered, crawling in on his belly. It was vaguely familiar, slightly chemically, slightly dead flesh. Actually, it made him think of the morgue Alucard and he had visited back in early October. He wrinkled his nose. The smell was likely faint to a human, but it was overwhelming with his heightened senses. He reached the bend of the burrow tunnel, and found the source of the flickering light. It was a small lantern that was burning low, and had been left here for some reason. _Werewolves don’t use lanterns,_ he thought, and started to wonder what was actually living in this hole as he crept forward.

He wasn’t afraid. Cormac Forrester was a big werewolf and seasoned. It was exceedingly rare for him to come up against a monster that was a true danger to him. Even when he’d fought and killed his second. It’d been bad but it was only because of Forrester’s own foolishness. _I got wounded because I didn’t want to kill the bastard,_ he thought with bitterness. That experience had been exceedingly hard. He’d really believed that his lieutenant, Bran, would yield. It was only when he’d ripped a massive hole in the gang leader’s back that Forrester had realized Bran had every intention of trying to kill him.

The only monsters that were a true threat to him were vampires, and they needed to be fairly powerful at that. There were actually very few truly ancient vampires remaining, most having been hunted or taken each other out once Dracula disappeared. Besides that, vampires preferred to hunt in the large cities. Their kills were less likely to be scrutinized in the sprawling urban cities, and they could blend in better. It was one of the reasons they were convinced that the Ripper was a vampire.

Laura and Alucard were the oldest vampires he’d ever met. While he hadn’t fought Alucard, he just assumed that the vampire would easily best him. Between the vampire’s age and his bloodline, it was a logical assumption and one he was happy would never be tested. When Laura and he had staged their fight, he could feel her restraint in her attacks and the wounds she inflicted. She could have easily killed him, but instead, the ruse had been extraordinarily effective with his men. Successful or not, he’d hated every minute of it, and his shame at her bleeding and begging had taken months to overcome.

Forrester came to the end of the burrow and carefully dropped into the space. The smell was strong, and the faint streaks of light from the lantern allowed his eyes to adjust. _What the hell?_ Forrester thought, and looked around. He was in some sort passageway with stairs cut down into the earth. At the bottom of the stairs was a door, a single candle on the ground beside it. His skin prickled with awareness. Something wasn’t right here. This wasn’t werewolves, this was something else entirely. Forrester paused and opened his senses. Everything was quiet around him.

 _I will just test the door_ , he thought, _and then I will return with Alucard and Laura. We can investigate together._ Carefully, he stalked down the stairs, and tried the doorknob. It turned easily beneath his hand, and the werewolf was hit with the overwhelming scent of death. The candle beside the door flickered as he nudged it into the room. It was some sort of a laboratory with vials, apparatus and tables laid out in front of him. There was something in the back though, something weirdly lumpy… he stepped into the room, pushing the candle with a clawed hand. As the light illuminated the space further with each nudge, he saw her.

There was a woman's body on the far table, chained down, and sliced open. There was something in the cuts, the utter insanity of them that was hideously familiar. _What the fuck?_ he thought with revulsion, _is it on fire?_ The body was smoking, but he couldn’t see any flames _._ It struck him like a silver bullet. The smell that was so strangely familiar was because of the portrait studio across the street from his headquarters. That smell was silver nitrate, which was used to develop the pictures. The smell was coming from the body, which apparently had been doused with the solution. It was smoking, because it was a vampire _. I have to get the fuck out of here,_ he thought suddenly, and whirled to the door. 

The tentacles surged down the stairs, dark black or brown in the dim light. “Hello there,” the male voice came, calm, pleasant and terrifying. In the dim light, Forrester could see the shape of a man at the top of the stairs. The tentacles were coming from him. _What the fuck is that?_ he wondered, hackles rising as fear worked into his muscles. “I’m pleased to see you. I’ve been wanting to test a more powerful foe for some time now. A werewolf of your dimensions is perfect. Alas, I am afraid we will not—” Forrester didn’t wait for him to finish. The door was only six feet away, and if he was going to die, he would rather die fighting.

Lunging for the tentacles, he ripped into the nearest one, and tasted blood. _Immortal,_ his taste buds told him, _vampire and old. But not too old. There was a chance to vanquish him, if he could just…_ The figure at the top of the stairs roared in anger, and suddenly the tentacles doubled around Forrester. They sliced into him and wrapped painfully around his arms and legs. They cut into his muscles and constricted like pythons. 

It hurt like mad. The werewolf struggled and snapped, successfully severing a couple of the slithering extensions. The fight was abruptly over when one of the tentacles impaled his snout, down through his tongue and lower jaw. Forrester’s vision blurred as white dandelion puffs of pain exploded into his skull and rendered him half blind. The tentacle surged through his flesh with a disgusting sensation and wrapped tightly like a muzzle around his snout. For only the second time in his life, Forrester was rendered helpless. Slowly, the man descended the stairs toward the werewolf, tentacles flexing and writhing.

“You!" The pleasant voice was infuriated now, disbelief and distain spikes slashing the air. "You shouldn’t have done that! You have made me bleed, and you will pay! You will beg me to end your pathetic life and I will not!” Forrester felt the tentacles wound into his flesh constrict with anger. He was lifted like a child into the air. His blood streamed in a steady beat over the floor, and the man entered the room, bringing him close. The vampire was attractive in a boyish sort of way, but when you looked in his eyes, he was far older than he should be. There was madness in those dark pools. With rising horror, Forrester absorbed the clues that he’d missed in his shock, and during the fight.

The body on the table. The vine-like tentacles. The pale complexion. Dark eyes. Dark moustache. And like a tolling death peal, the werewolf saw the massive gold chain on the waistcoat, a large seal inlaid with a red stone that dripped down from it. He looked into the eyes of the killer he’d been hunting for months now. The Ripper licked his tentacles, and tasted the blood running down them from Forrester’s body.

The werewolf felt the shudder from the Ripper, and found himself jerked forward, inches from the exuberant face. “The Heir!” the vampire snarled at him, crazed eagerness spilling into his voice, “The Heir is alive?! And here, in England!” Demonic laughter rolled over the room, and the Ripper smiled. “He hunts me, does he? Him and his ‘sister’? How flattering. But alas, I am not ready to meet him yet, but soon, so very soon.” The grip on Forrester eased slightly, and the tentacle laced through his jaw slackened, laying on his tongue. The werewolf resisted gagging.

“Of course, I have to kill his sister first. Cannot have her in the way of—” Forrester surged down, using his tongue to push the tentacle in his mouth between his teeth, and grinding hard enough to chip several teeth. Blood bloomed over his tongue, and for a moment, he received several unguarded images from the vampire's blood. Forrester was immobilized by the staggering sickness of them and missed his window. The vampire shrieked, and threw him into the depths of the dark room. Forrester had a moment to relish his freedom, and then struck something hard. Glass shattered around him, and he immediately felt burning. _Silver nitrate,_ he thought with despair. It would work through him quickly now, as his body was a mass of open wounds. Already he could feel his strength failing when he heard the door slam shut and the lock engage.

He struggled for consciousness and staggered forward. In the dark he heard a tiny snicker, and then a whimper. Forrester had a moment to realize he wasn’t alone in the room before the silver that was rapidly poisoning him reached his brain, and he passed out.

\---

When Laura and Alucard woke to the early evening in the Bradford Inn, they were concerned. They had never met up with Forrester the night before, which might have been explained as his reluctance to be seen in his werewolf form. Although disappointed, Laura had frolicked happily through the woods alongside Alucard until the wee hours, when they’d misted back into the rooms they’d secured for the evening. They had woken to no word from Forrester, no indication he was in the inn, or had stopped to leave them a message, and then heard of a local boy who'd been discovered horribly mutilated. The cumulative circumstances gave them both serious concerns about his whereabouts.

Alucard theorized that he might have had a bad transition, and accidentally attacked the boy. Forrester would feel hideous about such a thing, and likely was in hiding from the vampires. Laura, having spent more time in the company of werewolves than he, said that was extremely unlikely given Forrester's age. If he’d been a fledgling, absolutely; self-control and rational thought was virtually impossible for them. But for a werewolf of Forrester’s age? Unheard of.

To resolve that issue, they’d made careful inquiry into the boy’s murder, and the more that they uncovered, the worse it got. The boy had been terribly disfigured. The intestines had been partly extracted. Both ears were cut off, as were the legs and arms. The heart had been torn out entirely, and was stuck against the boy's throat. Both boots had been taken off and were pressed into the cavity of the abdomen in the region of the kidneys, whilst the other parts of the body were practically cut away. The limbs were tied to the body.

Most disturbingly, there was no blood at the place where the body was found, and the belief of the police was that the tragedy was committed some where else and the body moved to the site of discovery. Laura had looked at Alucard, and he didn’t even need the bloodlink to know she was thinking the Ripper. It was too similar but the differences were problematic. Nothing had been taken to eat, and there was no handkerchief. Furthermore, it was a boy; a child. They had arrested a local man, but neither Alucard or Laura believed it was the killer. Most of the locals, including the innkeeper, didn’t either.

The entire carriage ride home, Laura and Alucard talked through what it meant that the Ripper might have killed in Bradford, and where Forrester might be. Neither of them gave voice to their rising fear that the werewolf might have encountered a supernatural killer that left vine-like marks and defied understanding. Laura had wanted to stop at the headquarters immediately, but Alucard had reasoned that they didn’t want to cause another challenge like the one Forrester had endured over a decade ago. Laura had reluctantly agreed. Upon arriving in the city, they sent a messenger to the Lads headquarters.

No word of Forrester’s return came that evening, or the next. It never came.

Laura and Alucard returned to Bradford several times, looking for any indication of the werewolf’s whereabouts. They hired investigators, but to no avail. As far as anyone could tell, Forrester never reached Bradford. They never found his clothes, or his horse, and didn’t even know if he had left London. The last time anyone had seen him was when he left their house. Both siblings held the belief that something befell him. Because of the murder in Bradford, they believed it to be Ripper-related but they couldn’t imagine how or why.

Investigation into the handkerchiefs brought them William Foster, his townhouse, and a dead end. A man who’d fit the description they had, and certainly had the habits of a vampire, had abruptly left in the cover of night and left the door to his townhouse open. By the time they’d arrived, two weeks after Forrester’s disappearance, the building had been stripped of valuables and clues. Alucard’s man-of-affairs has been unable to uncover anything of note from the landlord, or a forwarding address. William Foster was clearly an alias, and they had nothing to go on from there. Because so many people had been in the house, Laura couldn’t locate a hair to track him, and Alucard couldn’t even scent him to know if they ever found him.

Months passed and the Forrester Lads became the Beck Lads. The battle over the position of leader lead to a bloody wreckage that burned down the headquarters, and started a fire that raged through three blocks of Whitechapel, including the soup line. Beck made several changes to the Lads, not the least of which was a refusal to work with the vampires. He felt that the work Alucard and Laura did was underhanded, subversive and had significantly weakened the werewolves, especially Forrester, whom he claimed Laura had glamored and seduced.

There was a division within Beck's gang. There was a faction who’d agreed with the balance of crime and care for the community, and believed Laura and Alucard to have good intentions. The other faction believed there could be more money made in exploiting the suffering of the people, and ignoring the betterment of the neighborhood in favor of bleeding it dry. The resulting fight was hideous, left both sides seriously weakened and dozens of wolves and their families dead. The remainder of Beck's crew was vulnerable and this left them open to the hostile takeover of the Monkey-Boy Gang. A smaller, vicious gang, the Monkey Boys had already been a presence in the community, but had been held at bay by the loyalty, organization and discipline of Forrester’s Lads.

By the time the fall of 1889 was ending, Forrester’s Lads, Beck’s Lads, the travelling school for the pickpockets, the sexual education seminars, and the soup line were all gone. Laura had fallen into a deep depression over Forrester, and the loss of all the families that they had worked so closely with. Alucard had quietly started to make preparations to return to Castlevania City in a permanent capacity. He had not intended to do so for another hundred years, returning only when the wakening of Dracula would be needed, but this last set of blows had convinced him.

London had been incredibly cruel to them; this was not the first personal blow they’d taken from the city, but he was determined it would be the last. There was still much to do here of course, but Laura needed a change of pace. He would not see her broken in the same way she’d been over Mary Shelley Wollstonecraft. He couldn’t bear it and he could see it sneaking up on her; the over-sleeping, listless staring at nothing when she thought he didn’t notice, personal projects she left incomplete and hidden in her desk so he didn’t worry. One weekend, they took respite at the manor in the Enchanted Forest, and Alucard gently suggested to her that they consider leaving London and relocating. The look Laura gave him was pained and then resigned.

“He isn’t coming back, is he?” she asked him quietly as bloody tears rolled down her face.

Alucard reached over to her, and took her hand. “No, dear heart. He would have by now, if he was alive. I’m so sorry.”

Laura tried to smile, but it was a broken wing on a floundering bird. “You act as if my pain is somehow greater than yours, when in fact, you knew him better. You were closer,” she sniffed, “he really liked you.”

 _But he loved you_ , Alucard thought silently, and knew he could never tell her that.

_\---_

When the night has come, and the land is dark  
And the moon is the only light we'll see  
No, I won't be afraid, no, I won't be afraid  
Just as long as you stand by me  
So darling, darling, stand by me  
If the sky we look upon should tumble and fall  
All the mountains should crumble to the sea  
I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear  
Just as long as you stand by me

- _"Stand By Me,"_ September Mourning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epilogue, but this is the last of Forrester. The world is a little poorer for it and I miss him already. I planned his death starting two nights ago but the man definitely grew on me, and I am sorry to see him go. I hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for joining me on this journey!
> 
> \---  
> Thanks to Ravi Kushwaha for the stairs image and Viscose Illusion for the chained heart image.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Artwork by Sebastian Yarks, on Behance, and used with permission.

The vampire known as Jack the Ripper took a deep breath under a new set of stars. He stepped off the ferry into New York and smiled. Immigration was a joke really, although he’d taken great glee in giving his middle name as Jack. The city held such promise for him, he could practically smell the teeming bodies filled with despair and blood. A million experiments, just waiting to pour their secrets out to him. He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it with a smile.

Carrie had been most helpful to him, setting up his lodgings to his specifications, and booking his ticket. He would have to visit her soon. She was a vast improvement over Mary Jane. His face twisted into a snarl, and he lowered his head so as to hide the vicious distortion of his face within the milling crowd. That bitch had known better than to talk about him, but talk she had. He couldn't imagine what had possessed her. His smile was satisfied. She’d seen the error of her ways before she’d died.

Coming to America had taken time, and had been a frustrating process of restraint he no longer cared to exert. He was not ready for the Final Experiment yet, and couldn’t afford to encounter him or his bitch. When he was ready, the Ripper wanted to be able to conduct the full battery of tests.

The vampire thought wistfully of his last experiment in England. Deliciously strong, the experiment's endurance had been incredible. It had not succumbed easily and had proved to be a good specimen for some of the theories he’d wanted to test. The Ripper had been sorry to see it go, but alas, all good things must come to an end.

 _Or in this case,_ the Ripper thought, as he looked at the city lit up in front of him like a Christmas tree burning with candles, _good things are only just beginning._

_\---_

Death is where I can always help

 _\- "Stand By Me,"_ September Mourning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ripper is not finished with Alucard and Laura. He will return.


End file.
